Watching Their Steps

by Alana Terry

  “I knew her.” Samantha’s throat tightened as she said the words.

  Elise gasped. “What?”

  “It’s true. I’ve worked with her through my job at the nonprofit.”

  Elise sank into the chair across from her and pulled her knees to her chest. “Samantha, that can’t be a coincidence.”

  “It has to be a coincidence,” Samantha muttered. “I didn’t know all the other victims.”

  “But . . .”

  Samantha knew what Elise was about to say. “I know. He seems to like me. I don’t know why. I . . . I just don’t know anything right now. Nothing makes sense.”

  “It was supposed to be me.” Elise’s shoulders slumped—not dramatically, necessarily. It was with obvious burden and years’ worth of guilt.

  “Don’t say that.”

  “You know it’s true. That . . . that man. He plans his actions. He was supposed to grab me.” She covered her mouth to muffle a cry. They’d had this conversation before. Both dealt with a variety of survivor’s guilt.

  Samantha closed her eyes. Her friend told the truth. From a distance, Samantha and Elise looked similar. They both had dark hair and an olive complexion. As teens, they’d told strangers who struck up a conversation that they were sisters, and some had believed them. Back then, they’d also worn their hair in a similar fashion. Now Elise’s was short and bobbed while Samantha’s was long and wavy.

  “If this is all linked to me, I don’t know that I could live with myself,” Samantha said.

  Elise squeezed her shoulder. “Oh, honey. Everyone knows you have the biggest heart of them all. You’re the person who insisted on making muffins for all the elderly at our church.”

  “Then I got home and tasted one. They were terrible.”

  “And you were friends with Jed when no one else would talk to him in high school.”

  “I hate bullies, and he had such a rough life.”

  “And you’re always the first to show up when something bad happens in a person’s life.” Her tone turned serious. “There’s a lot to be said for that. I’m pretty sure everyone cheered when you walked into our high school reunion last month.”

  “That was your imagination.”

  “Aaron cheered.”

  Samantha paused. “What?”

  “Aaron Jeffries.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “Oh, come on. Everyone knows he’s had a crush on you for years.”

  “No, he hasn’t.” Samantha would have known. “But he was at the scene today. As a paramedic.”

  “Small world,” Elise said.

  Samantha’s phone rang, and she recognized the number. “Excuse me a minute. I need to take this.”

  SAMANTHA SLIPPED INTO a spare bedroom to take the call. “Hey, Hank.”

  “Samantha? Are you okay?” he rushed, the concern evident in his voice.

  “I’m fine.” She lowered herself onto the bed, suddenly feeling the exhaustion of the evening. As the darkness crept up behind her, Samantha’s heart raced. She quickly flipped on a light.

  No, no one was there. She was just paranoid.

  “I heard what happened. What can I do? Do you need a place to stay?”

  Her boss was always both considerate and attentive. She appreciated those qualities about him. “No, I’m with Elise. I’ll be fine.”

  “I love Elise, but she’s not going to be much protection if this guy shows up.”

  “There’s an FBI agent stationed outside,” she tried to assure him.

  “An FBI agent?” His voice trailed off. “That sounds serious.”

  “It is serious, Hank.”

  “Do they think this guy is coming after you?” His voice turned even more grim.

  His words caused Samantha’s stomach to churn. “I’m not sure. They’re just not going to take any chances until they know what’s going on.”

  He paused. “I can’t believe this . . .”

  “No one can.” It still seemed surreal to her, like a bad dream she’d wake up from—only the nightmare kept drawing her back in and she couldn’t escape.

  Hank was someone else who felt guilty. He should have insisted on giving her a ride home. That’s what he always told her.

  Samantha suspected he liked her. When she’d decided to change careers, Hank had been the first person she’d gone to. But she only felt friendship toward the man—no sparks or visions of forever.

  Besides, dating wasn’t at the top of Samantha’s priority list. Who’d want to be with someone as neurotic as she felt? She couldn’t sleep at night. She had nightmares. She wouldn’t drive alone at night.

  It was a lot of baggage to bring into a relationship.

  Hank was a kind and sweet man who ran a nonprofit, going without pay sometimes. He’d started the shelter in memory of his mom, who’d been in an abusive marriage herself. The work he did was honorable and worthwhile.

  “I’m scared for you, Samantha,” he finally said.

  She didn’t bother to hide the truth. “I’m scared too.”

  Chapter 9

  SAMANTHA HADN’T SLEPT all night. Now it was 5:30 a.m., and she was up, drinking some coffee at the cozy kitchen table. Papers were spread in front of her as she tried to sort out her thoughts.

  By now, the police should have talked to Mandy Morrison’s family, Samantha realized. She should call them herself, but she couldn’t bring herself to do that yet. She was too shaken right now and would probably only add to their stress.

  They were grieving, no doubt. Perhaps there was a touch of hope that Mandy would be found alive. Like Samantha had been found alive.

  Samantha wanted to hold onto some hope also. The killer had called her. Maybe that meant he was second-guessing all of this.

  Had her words had any impact on him? Could she even hope?

  She sighed and stared at her jumble of notes. Samantha wasn’t a detective. She had no desire to be a detective. But what was the connection between all these victims?

  She stared at the list she’d started.

  Victim #1: Earnestine Fletcher. Schoolteacher. Everyone thought her car had simply broken down, and she’d disappeared. She’d always been flighty.

  Victim #2: Riley Durham. Cashier at a gas station. When she’d disappeared in the same manner as Earnestine and the same generic car key had been found, people became more suspicious.

  Victim #3: Kelly Levering. Babysitter. When she disappeared, the FBI was called in and things got real. No one could deny the pattern that had emerged. A week later, all their bodies had been discovered.

  There was also Sarah Storm who’d gone to high school with Samantha and Trixie Smith, whom Samantha had worked with. Another woman was a horse trainer. Another was attending college.

  Samantha stared at the list and frowned. None of the careers matched. Some women were single; some married. Some wealthy; some poor. Some thin; some overweight.

  The only connection was that the women were all under thirty. If her notes were correct, the oldest had been twenty-seven and the youngest nineteen. A few of these women had lived in town, but several had lived on the outskirts. One had been visiting from another state. Though Samantha’s little town was the smallest in the county, the surrounding areas had large population swells.

  He wasn’t choosing women based on appearance, career, or social status. What was he basing it on?

  Samantha paused and rubbed her eyes, already weary. But she didn’t have time to be tired. There was a life on the line. If she could do anything to help . . .

  “Can’t sleep either?” Elise shuffled into the kitchen, sporting bedhead and fuzzy Hello Kitty pajamas.

  Samantha shook her head. “No, I had nightmares. Kept hearing things.”

  “No updates?”

  Samantha shrugged. “If there are, no one has told me. I’m sure I’m not first on their list.”

  “I still can’t believe this has started up again.” Her voice sounded as somber as Samantha felt. Elise lowered hersel
f into the chair beside her.

  “This man has already taken away so much of my life, and now he’s returned to take even more.” That had been her resounding thought last night.

  He couldn’t wreck her life again. Yet it was like she could see an accident about to happen, and her entire body was bracing herself for the incoming impact.

  Elise frowned and poured herself some coffee. “Maybe the police will catch him this time.”

  “We can only hope.”

  Silence stretched between them, and Samantha took another sip of her coffee. She’d been obsessed lately with Almond Joy-flavored creamer. Elise had introduced her to the variety. But nothing really tasted good right now.

  “Who was that FBI agent who came in with you last night?” Elise asked, shifting in her chair.

  Quinn’s face fluttered through Samantha’s mind, especially his kind eyes. Why couldn’t every agent be like him? Maybe she wouldn’t have so many knots in her stomach if they were.

  “They call him Quinn,” she said.

  “Nice guy?”

  “Yes, he is. One hundred times better than Frost.”

  “Frost is terrible. Maybe you can report him. He doesn’t need to work with the public. That’s for sure.”

  Elise had heard about Samantha’s encounters with Frost before. He’d been a topic of many conversations. “I don’t want to waste my energy on him. He’s not worth it.”

  “Good point. But he has a major attitude problem.”

  “Agreed.” But Samantha had suspicions that it was more than his attitude that was a problem. Through a twist of fate, she knew too much about the man. She’d learned his deepest, darkest secret. Around that same time, Frost had begun to act resentful of her.

  “Now, Quinn on the other hand . . .” Elise raised her eyebrows.

  She studied her friend, curious now about what she was hinting at. “Quinn what?”

  “Quinn is very nice to look at.” A smile curled her lip.

  Samantha shrugged. She didn’t want to admit that she’d noticed, but she had. “It doesn’t matter. There are professional boundaries in place.”

  “Not for me.” Her friend wagged her eyebrows.

  Samantha laughed but inwardly felt a touch territorial. Which was ridiculous. She was perfectly content being single. And she in no way had her sights set on Quinn. She had far more important things to think about.

  Just then, someone knocked at the door.

  Samantha drew in a sharp breath and braced herself for whoever might be on the other side.

  QUINN’S STOMACH CHURNED as he stood outside Elise’s house and prepared himself to update Samantha. He had no doubt that this would be an impossibly hard day for her, and he wished he could change that. But he couldn’t.

  He tugged up the collar on his thick black parka and wished he had more coffee. He’d worked all night, only pausing long enough to take a shower before coming here. There was no time for sleep right now.

  Samantha cracked the door open, only one eye showing and the chain still attached.

  She was being cautious; that was good. But anyone skilled could easily push past such a flimsy chain and get into the house. He didn’t like that thought.

  When Samantha saw him, she opened the door fully, and pushed her thick hair back. Her eyes looked uncertain again—partly intrepid, partly curious. Altogether lovely still.

  “I didn’t expect you to come by,” she said.

  Another cold wind brushed over him, reminding him of the brutality of the task at hand. “Can I come in?”

  She nodded and stepped aside. He waved hello to Elise when she peered around the corner from the kitchen, not feeling quite presentable yet, if he had to guess.

  “What brings you by?” Samantha’s voice sounded strained as she crossed her arms, pulling her dark blue sweater closer.

  “A couple of things.”

  She nodded toward the kitchen. “How about if I get you some coffee? You look tired.”

  “Coffee sounds great.” He followed her into the kitchen. Her friend must have slipped around the corner and out of sight because it was just the two of them.

  Samantha poured him a cup, set it in front of him with the fixings, and lowered herself across from him. “So what’s going on?”

  He took a sip of his coffee—he liked his black—and then leaned back. The weight of this and how it would affect Samantha’s life wasn’t lost on him. “Well, we’ve been exploring several theories. The first person we looked at was Mandy’s ex-husband. We wondered if he was acting as a copycat to throw the police off.”

  “A copycat? Really?” Surprise etched her features.

  “It was just a theory. If her ex knew anything about the Grim Wrecker, then he could have followed the details that were written in various news articles. It would be the perfect cover for doing away with his wife. He wouldn’t have to pay alimony. He’d been a lawyer. A very expensive lawyer.”

  “But the MO matches the Grim Wrecker to a T. And there was that letter. And then there was that phone call to me.”

  “It’s true. But it’s still a theory we’re playing with.”

  Samantha studied his face for a moment, her fingers gripping her coffee mug. “There’s more.”

  He nodded solemnly before starting. She was observant. That was a good thing. “Someone called in a lead this morning. He didn’t leave his name, but he directed us to an old hunting cabin. He claimed he came across it a couple of months ago, and that it could match the description of where the women were held.”

  “And?” She rubbed her throat.

  “And it appears that this could be the killer’s lair, so to speak. We’re investigating it now, but any DNA samples we find there will take a while to come back.”

  She dropped her gaze but only for a minute. She pulled it back up with a new hope in her eyes. “Was Mandy there?”

  Quinn shook his head, hating that he didn’t have better news. “No, it was empty. It didn’t look like it had been touched for a while.”

  “I see.” Disappointment tinged her voice.

  He took another sip of coffee, trying not to rush the conversation. “We’re hoping you might come down there and see if anything is familiar to you.”

  Her face paled.

  Quinn waited for her to process everything. In his gut, he knew what her decision would be.

  Finally, Samantha nodded. “I’ll go. Maybe something will ring a bell.”

  “I know this has to be incredibly difficult for you. All of it. But if this is the right place . . .”

  She nudged her chin higher. “I can do it. Especially if it might help someone else. Let me finish getting ready first.”

  Chapter 10

  SAMANTHA WASN’T SURE she was ready to see this cabin. Her throat kept constricting until she felt as if she couldn’t breathe. Her heart hammered out of control. Her palms felt sweaty.

  Yet she knew she had to do this. The implications of finding this cabin were bigger than her and anything she might be feeling. It could save lives.

  She stared out the window of Quinn’s sedan at what looked like a premature winter landscape. More snow had come down last night, not enough to cover the ground, but enough to leave patches in crevices and shady areas. Those expanses matched the chill she felt in her soul.

  By the time they drove down the winding mountain roads and onto a gravel road and then onto a dirt road, Samantha’s limbs were a trembling mess. As hard as she willed herself to quit shaking, she couldn’t stop.

  They pulled to a spot at the end of a long, wooded drive. It was secluded here, and the driveway was hardly visible unless you were looking for it. Obviously, other law enforcement had been doing just that because there were probably eight other vehicles here already.

  The cabin in front of her was small and old and unkempt. Weeds grew up around the sides. One window had plywood over it—old plywood that was falling off. Rickety-looking wooden steps led to a small wooden porch.

  A s
creen door feebly guarded the bland brown door behind it. Samantha closed her eyes, remembering the sounds of the man approaching. The crunch of his tires against gravel. His heavy footsteps on a wooden porch. The sound of a door opening. Or had there been two doors?

  She pressed her eyelids together harder as the memories transported her back in time.

  What were those noises?

  At once, they hit her again. A screeching sound, followed by a whoosh of air.

  Yes, Samantha decided. There were two doors. A squeaky screen door and a heavy wooden one.

  Her tremble deepened as the memories—at one time vague—suddenly seemed more real than ever.

  Agent Quinn didn’t open his door, even after he put the car in Park. He sat there, the seconds ticking between them. Icy flakes hit the windshield. Branches clattered together. Leaves scurried away with the wind.

  It was like nature knew the horrors that may have happened here and mourned with them.

  “I wish there was something I could do to make this easier.” Quinn’s low voice helped calm her nerves.

  “I appreciate that. But I just need to get this over with.” Even as she said the words, she made no attempt to move. Nor did Quinn pressure her.

  Finally, after taking several calming breaths, she nodded. “Let’s go.”

  They stepped from the car, and Quinn remained at Samantha’s side as they walked toward the cabin—toward her nightmare. Her place of terror. Maybe. If this was the right location.

  Quinn cupped her elbow as they walked up the stairs. He feared she would pass out again, she realized. And she might.

  Samantha recognized that, visually, none of this would matter. It was her other senses that would take her back in time. The smells. The sounds. The feel.

  She wanted this to be the place yet didn’t want it to be. She needed answers. Law enforcement needed answers. The families of the victims deserved more closure.

  But she wasn’t convinced she could face this.

  As they stepped inside, Samantha froze in the entryway.

  The place was ramshackle, which fit her recollections. She remembered feeling the grit against her shoes. Remembered smelling decay. Remembered the rough tweed of the old couch beneath her.