Forgotten (Shattered Sisters Book 2)

by Maggie Shayne

  "But they aren’t nonexistent?" Ash stood, obviously agitated.

  "They exist. Although, those few I've studied have been far less violent in their methods. Poisoning is the most common. And usually their victims are helpless individuals, children, the weak, the infirm, the elderly. The Slasher’s victims have all been men, correct?" The doctor's gaze slid toward Joey. "I'm sorry. It disturbs you to hear all of this. You're pale."

  "I'm fine."

  Ash sent her a worried glance. She nodded to assure him she could handle whatever was said, and he returned his attention to Dr. Kramer.

  "Have they all been males, Mr. Coye?"

  Ash had been pacing, but he stopped. "No. I don't think so." Joey frowned at him. He watched her face as he went on. "I think this killer may be the same one who committed a series of murders in Las Vegas six years ago. One of those victims was a woman."

  "Ah, yes. I'm familiar with the case."

  "OhmyGod," Joey whispered. Her eyes widened as she searched Ash's steady gaze.

  Dr. Kramer rose from his chair and went to the window, pushing aside the curtains to look outside. "We're dealing with a rare one, Mr. Coye. One who doesn't wish to be caught. Sometimes they do, you know. And this one kills not in passion, but calmly...coldly. It’s not the act of killing that is the payoff. It’s watching them die. The victims might well be people that the killer firmly believes deserve to die, which is a secondary reason for him to stay around and make sure the deed is done. That, and of course, the pleasure he gets from watching the life force leave his victims. He or she, but far more likely he, might be acting in vengeance against a real man in his past, perhaps a man who is no longer around for him to kill. And I don't believe he'll stop until he feels that man has died by his hand, which will never happen. The ghosts that haunt these tormented souls rise up again and again no matter how often they try to exorcise them through murder." He turned away from the window and let the curtain fall back into place. "Your killer will not stop until he’s caught. I'm not sure of the significance of the single female victim. There are hundreds of possibilities there. I wouldn't presume to hazard a guess."

  "You really believe the killer is a man?" Ash asked, his voice incredulous.

  "The odds are that it is a man, though it is not impossible that it's a woman. Perhaps the lipstick on the cigarettes is a deliberate attempt to mislead police. Perhaps he dresses as a woman only when he kills as a precaution in case he’s seen. Both of those things are far more likely than it being an actual female killer."

  Ash pushed a hand through his hair. "You're not giving me much to go on."

  Ben Kramer said, "I'm not a psychic, Mr. Coye. I can give you a bit more, though. I believe you're looking for someone who was horribly hurt by an adult male, or witnessed someone they loved being hurt by him, probably in early childhood."

  "Physically hurt?"

  "Not necessarily, but that's likely. The killer believes this man deserves to die for whatever he did."

  Ash looked at Joey, and she cringed, knowing he must be thinking about her feelings for her father. God, did he suspect she was the Slasher?

  He didn't give her a clue as they left the office, and he remained silent when he slid behind the wheel of her car.

  She got in, fastened her seatbelt and turned to face him. "You think it was me, don't you?"

  Chapter Ten

  * * *

  He looked at her. Just looked at her, his eyes probing so deeply she felt their touch. "No, Joey. I don't think it's you." He started the car and pulled into traffic.

  "I despise my stepfather. I blame him for my mother's death. You know that."

  He nodded. "I know that."

  She closed her eyes, wishing she could tell him everything, wishing she could believe he trusted her, even knowing about her lies. "Ash, I was in Vegas when those killings happened. I was there with Caro and Ted. I was—"

  "I know that, too."

  She felt her eyes widen. "And you told me not to tell the police I smoke. Which I don’t, really. I mean I quit, years ago, and even then I didn’t—but then all this started and now...the cigarette butts they found—"

  "Same brand you have tucked away in your kitchen. And before you ask, so was the lipstick. Same brand. Same shade. Coral frost."

  She pressed her fingertips to her temples. "Oh my God." She felt her stomach heave. "OhmyGod."

  Ash pulled the car onto the shoulder, gripped her shoulders and turned her toward him: "How long have you been smoking that brand, Joey?" She didn't answer and he gave her a little shake. "How long? Tell me."

  She bit her lip and tears filled her eyes. "A month, I guess. I never liked menthols before. Then I quit for a while, and when I got the craving again I bought those. I...God, I don't know why." She was crying silently, big fat tears rolling slow and hot down her cheeks. He thought she was a killer and she felt sicker by the minute. "I didn't kill those people, Ash. I swear—"

  "I know you didn’t."

  She blinked and looked up at him.

  "I believe you, Joey."

  She shook her head, confused, bewildered. "Why?"

  He pulled her across the space that separated them and kissed her hard and long and deep. And when he finally lifted his mouth from hers she saw the passion and the caring in his eyes.

  "That's why."

  He let her go, pulled back onto the highway and drove a short distance in silence. "The lipstick is new too, isn't it?"

  She nodded.

  "I thought so. Never bought that color before, did you, Joey?"

  She frowned. "How did you know?" He said nothing, so she went on. "No. I haven't even used it more than once or twice. The shade's all wrong for me. And I never liked frosts, anyway. I bought it on impulse."

  “When?”

  Searching her memory, she said, “About a month ago.”

  "You bought it because the killer bought it."

  She frowned hard. "What do you mean?"

  "I have a theory. And I want you to hear me out before you shoot it down. I think you're more connected to this person than you realize. You're picking things up from him...or her, and you're not even aware of it."

  She thought about that "Ash, do you hear yourself? You don't even believe in psychics." She shook her head, looking at her hands folded in her lap. "I'm not even sure I do. At least, I didn't. Before all this."

  Ash frowned at her, then shifted his gaze quickly back to the highway. It was smooth, and the blacktop smelled new. The yellow lines were still glow-in-the-dark brilliant.

  "How could you not believe in it? You've made a business out of it.”

  "But I never saw myself as being...psychic. Just intuitive. Maybe more sensitive than other people. I never...never had visions or dreams or anything like that. Not until...these murders started."

  Ash tipped his head to one side and took a gentle curve too slowly, deep in thought she presumed. "Maybe there's a reason for that," he said at last. "Maybe...maybe there's a connection between you and the killer that you just aren't aware of. Maybe it's someone you know."

  She sighed hard, shaking her head at the ridiculous idea. "Like who?"

  "Like Ted." He sent her a quick, curious glance. "You said it yourself, Joey—he was in Vegas with you when those murders went down. And he's been acting odd lately. Oddly enough that your sister thinks he’s having an affair."

  Joey closed her eyes and tried to picture Ted as a killer. Ted dressing as a woman to hide his identity, or putting on coral-frost lipstick and.... Her eyes flew wide. "Caro has the same lipstick, Ash. We were together when I bought mine, and she decided to try it too."

  "So we know Ted has access to it. Does he smoke, Joey?"

  She shook her head, almost going limp with relief. "Not in years. He quit right after Brit was born. Said he had to be a good example for his girls."

  "You remember his brand?"

  Joey shook her head. "I don't think I ever knew it." She concentrated hard, trying to find the an
swers in her mind, but they simply weren't there. And she knew too well there were other reasons for her to feel connected to this killer, to feel like the bastard had invaded her mind. Compelling reasons. Her own sister was on the hit list. And so was Ash. Those two things alone might have some bearing on her uncanny abilities in this. It didn't have to mean the killer was someone she knew.

  But she couldn't tell Ash about her sister, because he was going to get his memory back soon. And if he knew the truth—that she'd only come to him in order to save her sister, that she'd played cruel, wicked games with his already-fragile mind—he would hate her. And she couldn't bear that.

  "What kind of background does Ted have? What kind of childhood? Is he close to his family?"

  She jerked herself out of her misery and tried to focus on Ash's questions. "His parents still live in Nevada. He doesn't see them much anymore, but it's not because of any discord. Just the distance. They all seemed to get along fine whenever I saw them together." Images danced at the fringes of her consciousness. Images she'd seen before, in the nightmare. Her sister, Caroline, lying facedown on the floor, her regulation sweats and baggy shirt stained with blood, her long blond hair tipped in red. And the hands, those leather-gloved hands, reaching for her.

  Joey pressed her fingers to her temples and sucked air through her teeth. God, she just wanted it to stop!

  "Joey?"

  She glanced at Ash and bit her lip. "You're right. There's some kind of connection, but I don't think it's Ted. Whatever it is, it's getting stronger. I can hardly close my eyes anymore without feeling...that blackness...closing in."

  Ash reached out, stroked her hair. "We won't talk about it anymore today, okay? We'll just..."

  She looked at him, smiled softly. He really seemed concerned. "Just what?"

  "Whatever you want. Dinner in the most elegant restaurant in town. Syracuse Stage for the latest play. Ballroom dancing. You name it, lady. You need a night off from all this, and to tell you the truth, so do I."

  She didn’t think she’d be able to forget, even for a minute, the sense of danger all around her. Around all of them. But she was more than willing to try.

  Ash couldn't get over it. And he couldn't quit looking at her, lying back with her head pillowed on a backpack. She wore faded jeans that were a little too big with their legs rolled up, and a pair of black army boots. The flannel shirt she'd pulled on over her tank top was worn-blanket soft, and its plaid pattern was fading. Her hair was long and loose, falling over her shoulders from under the most ridiculous-looking hat he'd ever seen in his life. Her fishing hat, she called it, and it dangled with hooks and lures of every imaginable description. The white light from a Coleman lantern bathed her face, shimmered in her hair, and her green eyes darted every few seconds to the fishing pole propped in the crotch of a forked branch she'd stuck into the ground.

  Still, baggy clothes, ridiculous hat and all, she was the most irresistible woman he'd ever seen. It made no sense, but she looked better to him than any swimsuit model ever could.

  And she was relaxing. The tightness had eased from her jaw, and the worry that had clouded her eyes earlier was all but gone. He would sit outside with the mosquitos all night if it would ease her mind.

  She tensed up all of a sudden, eyes on the water. "Ash!"

  "Hm?"

  "You have a bite."

  He dragged his eyes from her to the fishing pole and saw its end twitching sporadically. He'd much rather continue watching Joey, but he leaned forward, carefully picked up his pole and waited. When it jerked in his hands, he yanked it once, felt his success in the frenzied tugging on the other end, and began to reel it in.

  Joey stood, weight mostly on her good leg, and reached for the line when it was in the shallows. "Oooh, it's a nice one, too." She grabbed the slick black bullhead and worked the hook free. Ash shook his head slowly. Squeamish, she wasn't. She dropped the fish into the waiting pail, grinning from ear to ear.

  "You really like this, don't you?"

  She handed him a can of worms and settled back down in her spot beside him. "What's not to like?" She extended her wounded leg carefully and drew the other knee up to her chest, wrapping her arms around it and gazing out over the calm blue. Crickets chirped madly, and once in a while the deep croak of a bullfrog floated like a foghorn on the breeze. The night wind stirred her hair.

  Ash baited his hook and, with a less-than-expert cast, sent his line sailing out over the small lake. "So how did you know about this place?"

  He balanced his pole in his own forked branch and sat down, closer to her than before. But when he glanced at her face, it was troubled. "Joey?"

  She swallowed, sighed softly. "My dad used to bring us here when I was a kid. Back when I thought he was my dad. I didn’t know he was my stepfather until two years ago."

  "Did you like it this much then?"

  She didn't look at him, just kept staring out at the water. "Mom would pack more food than an army could eat. We'd build a fire, toast marshmallows." She laughed, just a little. "Caroline would never bait her own hook. She hated touching worms, and she never caught a thing because she'd insist on holding her pole. She wiggled it so much a fish would have to be nuts to try and bite. But Dad would hook one on his, and he'd let Caro reel it in."

  Ash felt a twinge inside. Jealousy, maybe, for the childhood he'd never had. And then he felt something else, something sad, when her smile slowly died. "That was before I knew what he was really like. I thought he was Superman back then."

  "Tough image to live up to."

  She said nothing, just looked away, up toward the starry sky. Her eyes shone a little too much, and she blinked quickly.

  "Joey, have you ever sat down and talked to him, heard his side of things?"

  "There's no excuse for what he put my mother through, so why bother asking him to explain?'' She shook her head. "No, Ash, I don't want to talk to my stepfather."

  "But maybe if you—"

  "Or about him." She shook her head. "It hurts too much."

  "If you didn't still care, it wouldn't hurt at all."

  She looked him square in the eye. "Sounds like the voice of experience."

  He clamped his jaw. He was certain what he'd said was true, in her case. But not in his. He didn't care at all. Never had. It was different

  "Were you close to your father, Ash?"

  "I never knew my father."

  “Neither did I. Not my birth father, I mean. He died before I ever knew he existed. Turns out he was a skunk, too. Although….”

  “Although…?” he prompted.

  She shrugged one shoulder. “Toni adored him. Even after she knew he’d cheated on her mom and fathered kids by other women, she still adored him.”

  Ash got to his feet. "You know, that campfire idea isn't bad." He looked around, spotted some twigs and dried leaves and began gathering them.

  "What about your mother?" Joey asked.

  Ash deposited the kindling atop the charred remains of other fires, old ones. "You didn't happen to bring any marshmallows, did you?"

  He felt her gaze on him for a long moment. Then she released her breath all at once. "Afraid not."

  He looked at her and saw the knowledge in her eyes. He knew she was feeling his emotions just then, experiencing his private hell right along with him. And for some reason, it didn't feel like an invasion. More like a mental hug. When their eyes met, those fingers of horror from his past released their brief grip on his mind. Warmth and light took their place.

  She got up and limped toward him, stopping right in front of him, and he straightened from his task of arranging kindling. Her hands slid up his chest, around his neck, and she stood on tiptoe to press her lips to his. His arms encircled her waist and pulled her closer, and then he opened his mouth over hers, kissing her deeply, slowly, savoring her taste and her scent and her sweetness.

  God, what was this thing that filled him when he was with her? Not lust, though he wanted her more every time he l
ooked at her. No, it was more than that, deeper, fuller, bigger than that. It seemed to ooze from his every pore and press in around him from without at the same time. It enveloped them both, he thought, trying to fuse them into one being.

  He felt her fingers threading into his hair, and her body pressing to his. He felt the cool, damp breeze bathing them both with its marshy scent. He lifted his head, staring down at those glittering green gems.

  She blinked at him, her eyes wide and wonder filled. "I'm so afraid of this," she whispered.

  "Of wanting me?" He slipped his hands beneath her shirt and ran his palms over the warm, smooth curve of her back.

  “Of...of needing you.''

  He closed his eyes at the impact of her words. "I know."

  "It's overpowering. It's getting worse all the time, and I—"

  "And I can't do anything to stop it," he finished for her. "I'm not sure I want to stop it." He took her hat off and tossed it aside. Then he kissed her cheek, her jaw.

  She let her head fall back and he trailed his mouth over her neck. "It's out of my hands," she said softly, her voice wavering like the breeze skipping over the water's surface.

  "Then just let it go." His lips moved over her throat as he spoke. "Let it go, Joey."

  He brought his hands around between them and pushed the soft flannel from her shoulders. As it fell to the ground, he pushed the tank top up, wrestled it over her head and tossed it aside. They fell to the ground wrapped in each other’s arms, melding into one, just like before. It was intense, supernatural, he thought, the way he felt when they made love. It felt as if she was the part of his soul he’d been missing, and when they joined, he was perfect, and whole.

  He made love to her, and she to him, as the isolated lake’s water lapped softly against the shore, and the stars twinkled overhead, and the crickets sang like a holy choir as he savored their sweet oneness. And afterward, he closed his eyes and relaxed on top of her, supporting most of his weight on his knees so he wouldn't crush her. Her small hands stroked his back, and her lips moved over his face and neck. He smiled, smoothing her hair and lifting his head enough to look into her eyes. They sparkled, searching his.