Kat shrugged. “The other day. I don’t remember when exactly. We’ve helped each other out on cases from time to time, and we were talking…”
Her voice faded as Elizabeth suddenly became preoccupied with an image of Kat and Cullen…together. It made her feel terrible because Kat was so much more Cullen’s type than she would ever be. Elizabeth doubted he would have kicked someone as sexy as Kat out of his bed.
“…keep thinking about Claire,” she was saying.
Elizabeth frowned. “What?”
Kat gave her a bemused look. “I said I can’t help wondering if the killer is the same psycho who kidnapped poor Claire. If he’s the same one who murdered my mother.”
Any resentment that might have been building for Kat dissolved like mist in sunlight. “I’ve wondered the same thing myself,” Elizabeth admitted.
“From what I understand, the MO isn’t the same, though.”
“Not altogether, no,” Elizabeth said carefully. Even with a friend, she couldn’t go spouting her mouth off about the cases. “But that doesn’t necessarily mean anything. After twenty years, the killer could have changed his MO, either deliberately or through a natural evolution of his appetites.”
Kat’s gaze turned dark. “What if it is the same guy who kidnapped and tortured Claire? What if the killer’s identity is locked up somewhere in her tormented mind?”
“Then she could be in danger,” Elizabeth said. “But we’ve always known that. That’s why her mother keeps her in Glen Oaks. The security is excellent.”
Brie came over then, and Kat slid over in the seat to make room for her. “We were talking about Claire. And about the murders.”
Brie shuddered. “Elizabeth and I were just saying what a horrible thing those girls’ families are having to go through.”
“Yes,” Kat agreed, her gaze clouding. “Murder is horrible. And before another family is put through the same hell, I think the three of us should take a ride out to Glen Oaks and see Claire.”
“The last time I went, they wouldn’t even let me in to see her,” Elizabeth warned.
Kat nodded. “I know, but they tell me she’s getting better. Maybe if she sees the three of us, it’ll trigger something for her. The last time we were all together was that night.”
“But Tasha was there, too,” Brie reminded them sadly.
For a moment all three fell silent, caught up in the lingering grief over past tragedies, but then Kat shrugged off the melancholy. “Look, I know it’s a long shot, but I’ve always believed if Claire is ever going to remember, if she’s ever going to open up to anyone, it’ll be us. I say we give it a shot.” Kat turned to Brie. “Can you get away?”
Brie hesitated, then nodded. “My shift ends in another hour. I like to spend all my free time with Nicole, but my mother is taking her to a birthday party down the street. I’ll call and tell her I’ll be late. I think you’re right, Kat. We have to talk to Claire. At the very least, we owe it to her to try and help her get her life back.”
They clasped hands, and though their mission was a grim one, Elizabeth felt a camaraderie she hadn’t experienced since that fateful night in St. John’s Cemetery.
GLEN OAKS was a private institution located on the outskirts of a tiny village about a hundred miles west of Moriah’s Landing. Safely tucked away behind an electronic fence which was artfully disguised by thick hedgerows of hawthorn, the white Colonial-style building was an elegant affair with a wide, sweeping drive lined with red oaks and sugar maples bursting with buds. Beds of winter crocus dotted the manicured lawn, and a stone fountain trickled near the entrance.
A nurse led them down an antiseptic hallway where the clatter of food trays could be heard through open doorways. “You girls came at an opportune time.” She lowered her voice as she ushered them into Claire’s room. “She’s had a good day.”
The room was decorated much like a young girl’s bedroom, in pink satin and lace with mountains of stuffed animals on the bed. There was a vanity, but no mirror, and the glass in both the window and the door was doubled-paned and reinforced with wire mesh. Almost impossible to break.
Claire was seated in a rocking chair in front of the window, staring out across the sculpted lawn. She didn’t turn when they came inside. She gave no indication whatsoever she was even aware of their presence.
She’d changed so much since that terrible night. She’d always been fragile-looking, with long, gorgeous hair and a pale, delicate complexion. But she was even more frail now. The cotton dress she wore hung like a sack from her lean frame, and her hair, though neat and clean, had lost its glorious luster.
Kat went over and knelt in front of her, placing her hand on Claire’s knee. “Claire? It’s Kat. Brie and Elizabeth are here, too.”
Brie walked over and knelt beside Kat. “Hi, sweetie,” she said in a soft, soothing tone, much like the one she undoubtedly used when she spoke to her little daughter. “What a pretty dress you have on!”
For the first time, Claire showed a slight reaction, a hint of emotion. She turned her beautiful blue gaze on Brie, and something that might have been a smile flickered across her features.
The nurse said to Elizabeth, “She loves to have her hair brushed. That might help relax her.”
Elizabeth walked over to the vanity and picked up the brush, noting that the bristles were soft and pliant. Nothing that would cause any harm. She went to Claire and began stroking her hair, taking great care to be gentle.
After a moment, Claire’s shoulders visibly relaxed. She still said nothing, but at least she wasn’t screaming the way she had the last time Elizabeth had seen her. Elizabeth had heard those terrified shrieks all the way down the hallway, all the way home and sometimes in her sleep, she still heard them.
Tears smarted her eyes, but she willed them away.
Kat glanced up at Elizabeth, uncertainty flashing in her dark eyes. Elizabeth knew what she was thinking. How did they approach someone as fragile as Claire about what had happened that night? How, in good conscience, could they make her relive that nightmare?
Because it might save another young girl’s life.
It might save Claire’s own life.
Still, they would have to be very, very careful.
Claire reached a hand and touched Kat’s cheek. Then she stroked one finger along Brie’s curly red hair. “Pretty hair.” She lifted a hand and felt her own limp strands. “I used to have pretty hair.”
“Oh, honey, you still do,” Brie whispered.
Elizabeth closed her eyes briefly. This was so much more difficult than she’d even thought.
“Claire, we want you to know something,” Kat said. “We looked for you that night. We would have done anything to find you, to help you. We’re so sorry we let you down.”
“Hurt me,” she whispered.
“Who?” Kat pressed gently. “Can you tell us who hurt you, Claire?”
“Hurt me again,” she said more insistently.
“We won’t let him hurt you again.” Kat’s dark eyes flashed with anger. “I promise you that.”
“Hurt me.” Then louder. “Hurt me! Hurt me! Hurt me!” A high keening emanated from Claire’s lips, and Elizabeth stopped brushing her hair and stepped back. What had they done?
She remembered the awful guilt she’d felt that night when Claire had disappeared, how she’d been so certain it was all her fault because she’d been thinking about Cullen.
God help her, she was still thinking about Cullen while poor Claire—
She glanced up and saw him standing in the doorway.
It was as if her thoughts had conjured him from thin air. His gaze went from her to Claire, and a look came over his features that Elizabeth had never seen before. It was a combination of compassion, disbelief and a harder emotion that might have been determination.
“Get a nurse,” Elizabeth said.
He turned, but before he could move, the nurse who had shown them in came bustling into the room. She went over and
took Claire’s arm, helping her out of the rocking chair. “There, there,” she crooned. “It’s okay. Everything’s going to be okay.”
She led Claire to her bed, and Claire lay down, curling herself into the fetal position while she clutched a pink bear to her chest. Her eyes were squeezed tightly closed as she rocked back and forth. The keening had stopped, but Elizabeth thought the silence that followed might even be worse.
“She needs her rest now,” the nurse said briskly. “But I hope you’ll come back again. It’s good for her to have visitors.”
“But she got so upset,” Brie said worriedly.
“Yes, she did,” the nurse agreed. “But any response is better than none at all.”
Chapter Fifteen
It was late by the time they left Glen Oaks. Darkness had fallen in earnest, and as they exited the curving drive and pulled onto the main highway, Elizabeth could see a full moon rising over the treetops.
She rode with Cullen although she hadn’t wanted to at first. She still felt awkward with him, but he’d made a point of asking her in front of Brie and Kat, and Elizabeth didn’t think she could turn him down without arousing her friends’ curiosity. If she’d insisted on riding back with them, they might have asked questions, and she didn’t feel like talking tonight.
Earlier, she’d have given anything for someone to confide in, but now all she wanted was some peace and quiet to think about everything that had happened.
She stared silently out the window for the first several miles of the journey. If Cullen spoke to her, she answered in monosyllables. Finally he gave up and put in a Bauhaus CD. The dark, edgy music was the perfect accompaniment to her mood.
When they were almost home, he turned down the sound. “Okay, what’s with the silent treatment?”
Elizabeth shrugged.
“Now you’re just being childish,” he accused. “You can at least answer me.”
She turned to face him. “What do you want me to say?”
“Anything that’s on your mind.”
“My mind is a complete blank.”
“You don’t want to talk about your friend, Claire?”
“No.” Which was true. The memory was still too raw.
“Do you want to talk about what happened in my apartment?”
“No!”
“I think we need to,” he said softly.
“Well, I don’t” Elizabeth folded her arms defensively. “What is there to say? You made your feelings perfectly clear, and for your information, now that I’ve had time to think about it, I agree with you. You’re not the right man for me.”
He threw her a startled glance. Then he frowned. “When did you come to that conclusion?”
“When you gave me no other choice.” She turned back to the window. “I’ve been thinking about everything you said, and you’re absolutely right. A woman like me needs candles and romance…whatever.” She waved her hand absently. “My first time should be special, with a man who knows how to…you know. Someone older, perhaps, and sophisticated. Someone like…like…Lucian LeCroix.” She slanted him a glance and saw his features harden.
“What the hell does he have to do with this?”
“He seems to fit the criteria you have in mind for me. He and I are both college professors. We come from similar backgrounds. We have a lot in common.”
Cullen’s voice hardened with anger. “I told you before, I don’t trust that guy.”
“But I do,” she lied.
Cullen’s gaze narrowed. “You’re just saying that to piss me off.”
“Am I?”
He turned back to watch the road, his face set in hard, furious lines. “Mission accomplished.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Nothing.”
Elizabeth lifted her chin. “I’m just telling you what I thought you wanted to hear. You’re off the hook now. You don’t have to worry. I’m turning my attention elsewhere.”
“Like hell,” she could have sworn she heard him mutter.
INSTEAD OF DROPPING her off at her car where she’d left it on Waterfront Avenue, Cullen headed south of town, turning on Old Mountain Road.
Elizabeth glanced at him in surprise. “Where are we going?”
“To see David Bryson.”
“Why?”
“Emotions are running high around here. It’s my duty to warn him about a dangerous situation that could be brewing.” He shrugged. “I wouldn’t mind having a little chat with him about the murders, either.”
According to talk in town, David Bryson never left his house during daylight hours, but after dark, he prowled the streets, keeping to himself and to the shadows. Elizabeth had never personally spotted him, but she wondered sometimes if the occasional sightings of McFarland Leary couldn’t be chalked up to Bryson’s nocturnal wanderings.
Not that she didn’t believe in ghosts. She was quite certain she’d seen one that night in St. John’s Cemetery, but she wasn’t about to confess her sighting to Cullen.
Old Mountain Road was a narrow, twisting trail that led, as its name implied, up the side of a mountain. At the top, clinging precariously to the edge of a jagged cliff, was the Bluffs, David Bryson’s forbidden domain. As they neared the castle, Elizabeth thought that the stone facade blended almost seamlessly with the night.
There were no lights, save for a lone beacon in a tower window. A shadow moved across the light, and for a moment, Elizabeth could have sworn she saw someone staring down at them. She shivered, thinking of all the stories she’d heard about Bryson. A cold-blooded murderer. A horribly disfigured recluse. A man whose passions and grief could have driven him to do unspeakable evil.
Had they?
A butler—tall, rigid, impeccably dressed—opened the door. He was all set to turn them away, but then Elizabeth heard another voice in the background, and the man glanced over his shoulder. When he turned back, he opened the massive door and beckoned them inside. “This way.”
The inside was even darker and more forbidding than the outside. The place was old and creaky, full of shadows and mysterious doorways. Elizabeth and Cullen followed the butler down a long, dark hallway where he drew open a set of doors and waited for them to enter. Once they were inside, the doors closed with a resounding thud.
Elizabeth jumped a little, and goose bumps popped out on her skin. Judging by the crowded shelves of books, they were in a library of sorts, but the room was dank and musty, hardly inviting. The drapes at the window were drawn tightly, shutting out the moonlight, and only one lamp glowed dimly from a corner.
She and Cullen were both gazing around curiously. Elizabeth had assumed that David Bryson would join them momentarily, but as her gaze scanned the murky recesses of the room, she saw that he was already there. Either he’d been present all along, or he’d somehow slipped in from some secret passageway. She shivered as she felt his gaze meet hers.
“You’ve come about the murders.” His voice was deep and velvety smooth. “I’ve been expecting you.”
“I’m sure you have,” Cullen said. “I’ve come by before, but your watchdog wouldn’t let me in.”
Elizabeth strained to see Bryson, but he’d positioned himself in deep shadow. Because of the scars?
“You’ll have to forgive Richard. He’s overly protective, I’m afraid, but then, he has good reason to be, considering that I’m the chief suspect in almost any criminal activity that occurs in this town.” A hint of wryness crept into his rich voice.
“I know what it’s like to be accused of something you didn’t do,” Cullen said. “I’m not here to make accusations.”
“Then why are you here, Detective?”
“To warn you.” Cullen paused. “Suspicions are running high because of these murders. People are scared, and when they get scared, they’re apt to do something stupid.”
“Are you saying the town’s out to get me?”
“I’m saying if I were you, I’d hang close to home until all this blows over.”
/> Bryson’s hand moved in a fatalistic gesture. “I’m a recluse, Detective. Hadn’t you heard? I never leave these castle walls.”
Elizabeth saw Cullen lift a brow slightly. “Is that so? I’ve heard you like to take…long walks after dark.”
A polite way of putting it, Elizabeth thought.
“Is that a crime, Detective?”
“Not if walking is all you do. Any chance you were near Heathrow College on the night of March sixteenth?”
“As a matter of fact, I was.”
Elizabeth sensed Cullen’s surprise. She turned to stare at Bryson, wishing again she could see his face.
“Were you on campus?”
“I didn’t go inside the gates if that’s what you mean.”
“What time was this?”
“Sometime before midnight. I can’t be sure of the precise minute.”
Cullen and Elizabeth exchanged a glance. “Did you see anyone enter or leave the campus either on foot or in a car?”
“I saw nothing.”
“What about the night of February fourteenth? Were you anywhere near the Pierce compound?”
“I was not.” Impatience crept into Bryson’s voice. “I’m sorry, Detective, but I’m afraid I really can’t help you out. I don’t know anything about these murders. I can give you a piece of advice, though.”
“Let’s hear it.”
He leaned forward slightly, and for a split second, Elizabeth glimpsed his face. She caught her breath.
And then he stepped farther back into the shadows. “Check the victims’ blood types, their medical histories. You may find something there.”
“How do you know about their blood types?” Cullen asked sharply, but David Bryson had melted into the shadows.
Somehow he’d vanished without making a sound.
“HOW DID HE know that both victims had the same blood type?” Elizabeth mused as they made their way back down the mountains. “That information hasn’t been released to the press.”
“That’s what I’d like to know,” Cullen muttered.
“And what did he mean about their medical histories?”
Secret Sanctuary Page 17