by Mary Stone
Frank accelerated onto the road, and Ellie forced herself to look out the window at the burning vehicle and the site of Gabe’s awful death. This time, she welcomed the pain that swept through her. The agony fed her determination.
“You okay back there?” Clay craned his head to appraise Ellie, his brow creased with worry.
“No. But I will be, once we bring Kingsley in.”
Clay studied her expression. Apparently satisfied, the agent turned to Frank. “Got an ETA until we hit that first roadblock?”
“Five minutes.”
“Good. I gave the order to be alerted immediately if personnel working the roadblocks find anything that makes them so much as lift an eyebrow.”
Ellie chewed her lip. “What about alternate routes to escape, is anyone running those down? Bus routes, airports, trains?”
“FBI is sending out an APB with his name and description at all of the airports within a two-hundred-mile radius. Ditto with trains. I’m not sure where we’re at with buses. Are there any that run this time of night near here?”
“Checking right now.” Ellie searched on her phone and found the local schedule. “The closest one is about a mile away. Should we head there first?”
“Give me the address.”
Frank typed the address that Ellie recited into his GPS. As he navigated them there, another idea popped into Ellie’s head. She should have thought of it first, but her brain had been hijacked by the horror she’d witnessed. “What about private airfields nearby? Helicopter pads?”
“On it.” Clay dialed a number and held his phone to his ear. “Special Agent Lockwood here again. We need a list of any nearby locations that house private airfields or helicopter pads. Send that to me as soon as you generate. We’ll need agents checking out each and every one.”
Four hours of fruitless searching later, Frank pulled the SUV in front of a hotel. “You two look like you’re about to pass out on your feet, and the last thing I need right now is to drive both of your sorry asses to the hospital. It’s late, so get out. Get some sleep. We’ll be at this again before you know it.”
Ellie wanted to argue, but Frank was right. The adrenaline keeping her going had slowly worn off over the last hour, leaving her body exhausted and her brain foggy. A few hours of sleep would do them good.
When they entered the sliding doors, the lobby was empty except for the few on-duty hotel staff. Clay walked straight up to the young dark-haired man behind the reservation desk. He slid his driver’s license and credit card across the counter. “Can we get two rooms, please?”
The idea of sleeping alone in a strange room after everything that had transpired over the last twenty-four hours made Ellie shiver with dread. She tugged on Clay’s sleeve. “Can we share a room? Please?”
The sharp lines of his face softened. “You bet.” Relief washed over Ellie as Clay turned back to the employee. “Scratch that. We’ll take one room with a king bed.”
Ellie didn’t even care that the young man flashed Clay a knowing smile before tapping away at his keyboard. “Certainly. That’s one room with a king bed.”
The panel beeped when Clay swiped his key card. He held open the door, letting Ellie enter first. The room was spacious and decorated in soothing, tasteful shades of blue and gray, but the entire thing could have been the size of a closet and the walls plastered with pictures of clowns for all Ellie cared. All she really needed at that particular moment was a hot shower, followed by a bed.
Clay caught her in the bathroom doorway, gazing longingly at the combo shower/tub. “You go first.”
Ellie shot him a grateful smile. “Thank you. I’ll try not to take too long.”
“Don’t rush. Showering for as long as we want is the least we deserve after this night. I’ll be fine.”
No argument from her. Especially once she stepped under the hot spray. The water soothed her tense muscles, and the lavender-scented soap lathered up with thick bubbles and washed the grunge from the day away. She stood under the spray until her skin flushed pink all over and her legs felt wobbly.
Once she dried off and pulled on her warm nightclothes, Ellie padded barefoot into the bedroom, dressed in flannel pajama pants and oversized t-shirt. “All yours.”
She waited for the bathroom door to click shut before sinking onto the bed. To her horror, her eyes welled with tears and sobs barreled up her throat as the day’s events hit her all over again.
She rolled onto her stomach and buried her head in the comforter as she cried. She sobbed for Gabe, for Kingsley’s other victims. For herself. For the seemingly endless suffering that the master continued to inflict.
What happened if they never found Kingsley, and he haunted her forever? How many other people were yet to suffer? How many of Ellie’s friends, loved ones, and colleagues could Kingsley attack and kill before she finally snapped for good?
Ellie didn’t know how long she cried, only that at some point, the mattress dipped and Clay gently rolled her over and gathered her into his arms. His touch unleashed a whole new torrent inside her, and she buried her head against his chest. He rubbed her back and held her close, letting her sob until there was nothing left. When she lifted her head, the front of his gray shirt was dark with her tears.
Ellie cringed. “S-sorry about your sh-shirt.”
Clay used one finger to tip her chin up. “Hey. Don’t do that. This shirt has survived a lot worse than a little water. Crying is good for the soul, sometimes we need to unload so that we can keep going. I’m just glad that I was here for you. Talking helps too.”
Ellie hiccupped, then sighed. She knew Clay was right. Bottling up her worries and fears only made them grow. So, she told him. About all of the terrible questions ringing in her head. The worst-case scenarios. The endless string of what-ifs. And even though Clay didn’t speak, he was right. Talking loosened the painful knots inside her. The strong arms wrapped around her didn’t hurt, either.
Once the floodgates opened, Ellie couldn’t close them again. She kept talking. She told Clay about her childhood, going into detail about what happened the night that started all of this. How she’d lied to her parents about meeting a boy who’d ended up ditching her at a party, only for events to go from bad to worse when Kingsley kidnapped her on the walk home. Even though her skin crawled and her stomach turned, Ellie told him what Kingsley had made her do. She left nothing out.
“I can’t help but think that I started all this. If I’d stayed home that night or gone to the movies like I was supposed to, none of this would be happening right now. That all of this is somehow my fault.”
Clay’s hand was gentle as he stroked her damp hair. “I understand that it’s easy to fall into that trap, but that’s exactly what it is, Ellie. A trap. Sure, if you hadn’t gone that night, then Kingsley might never have targeted you, but then it would have been some other girl. Likely one who wouldn’t have been able to get away. Kingsley is a serial killer. He loves to inflict pain. He needs to. He will never stop unless we make him. And it’s only thanks to you that we’re as close as we are now to stopping him for good.”
Logically, Ellie understood all of that already, but the sentiment resonated more when coming from Clay. “Thank you. And wow, look at that. Time’s up on my talking allotment for the evening.” She rolled onto her side and propped herself up on her elbow so that they faced each other. “Now that you know all my deep, dark secrets, it’s your turn, right? Anything you want to share, to even the scale a little?”
Ellie was mostly teasing, so she was surprised when Clay took a deep breath and closed his eyes, like he was gathering his courage. When he opened them again, they held a faraway look.
“When I was thirteen, my family went to a local fair. My parents, me, and my sister, who was eleven at the time.” He paused, and his voice dropped to a reverential whisper. “Caraleigh.”
The way he said his sister’s name sent goose bumps skating up Ellie’s arms.
“Being eleven and thirteen,
the last thing we wanted to do was spend the whole time hanging out with our parents. So, after begging them for half an hour to let us go ride the rides on our own, they finally caved.” A distant smile curved his mouth. “My dad never could resist Caraleigh for very long. She had big blue eyes like my mom and knew how to work them, ever since she was old enough to talk.”
He lapsed into silence as he stared into space. Ellie’s sense of foreboding grew, and she twisted the comforter between her fingers to ease the building tension.
“They let us go, on one condition. That I not let my sister out of my sight. And I did that. At first. We rode a few rides, right up until I saw Jana Danielson. At the time, I couldn’t believe my luck. There was the girl I’d had a crush on all year, hanging out with a few of my friends. So we joined their group. We rode one of those spinning rides that makes you want to puke, then played some carnival games. Jana actually sat next to me on the roller coaster and touched my shoulder. I still remember how excited I was in that moment.”
He broke off again. Ellie’s chest tightened. Please, don’t let this story be going where I think it does…
But she was pretty sure she knew the truth long before he ever finished.
“It was after the roller coaster, in line for churros and pretzels, when I realized Caraleigh was no longer with us. We looked everywhere. We retraced our steps, scoured the entire damn fairgrounds. But even then, I was really only worried about what my parents would do when they found out. I figured worst case, Caraleigh had gotten mad that I wasn’t paying attention to her anymore and run back to tattle, and I’d be grounded.” His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “We never saw her again.”
The horror hit Ellie hard. Even though part of her had been expecting this punchline, her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, Clay.”
“They tried police, search dogs, even cadaver dogs. They never found so much as a trace. It was like she’d never been there at all. But you know what the real kicker is?” He lifted his head and his eyes glistened with so much agony that Ellie felt his pain like a physical punch. “I can still remember all the rides I went on with Jana, how she touched my shoulder on the roller coaster, that she wore a maroon sweatshirt with black jeans, and that she wanted the salt on her pretzel on the side. But to this day, I couldn’t begin to tell you how long Caraleigh was missing before I noticed.”
Self-loathing was etched into his twisted upper lip and rigid jawline. Ellie reached out and cupped his cheeks in her hands, tugging until their faces lined up with their noses only an inch apart.
“Hey. Look at me.” She waited for him to comply. “I understand the compulsion to blame yourself, probably better than anyone. But you were a kid, Clay. Thirteen. And that’s the kind of thing that happens to thirteen-year-olds. They get caught up in crushes and friends and forget their responsibilities sometimes. Your parents knew that when they agreed to let you and Caraleigh go off on your own. I’m sure they factored that in, along with the risk of one of you actually being snatched, which, even in our line of work, we know is incredibly low.”
He shuddered beneath her fingertips. “I don’t—”
She pressed her fingers to his lips. “Like you told me earlier, it’s not your fault. Not yours, not your parents’. Not Jana’s or Caraleigh’s. The only person at fault is the monster who snatched her.”
Clay shuddered again before letting her pull his head to her chest. He clutched her upper arms like his life depended on it while she stroked his hair and made soothing sounds, blinking back a fresh batch of tears.
After enough time had passed, she gave a strangled laugh. “Wow, here I was thinking both of us were pretty deep, but all along, we’re about as basic as can be. Doesn’t take a genius to figure out why both of us ended up in law enforcement, does it?”
Clay snorted before he lifted his head. “Guess not.”
Her humor faded, and the burst of warmth was replaced by thick, ugly shame. “I’m so sorry, Clay, that I didn’t know this before. I should have asked you more about your family.” She hung her head. “I’ve been selfish, too caught up in my own stuff. Forgive me? Be—”
Warm lips pressed to hers, silencing the rest of her sentence. “Hush. That’s the biggest bunch of baloney I’ve heard in my entire life, and in my line of work I’ve heard a hell of a lot. You are without a doubt one of the kindest, most giving people I’ve ever had the good fortune of knowing. Ellie Kline, I thank my lucky stars all the time that you were brought into my life. There’s no way you could have known about Caraleigh because I never talk about her. Or didn’t, until now. So, thank you.”
No matter what Clay said, Ellie didn’t believe for one second that she deserved his thanks. But she’d be lying if she didn’t admit that her throat clogged with emotion over how he’d described her.
“I’m thankful that you’re in my life too.” She toyed with an errant curl. “Isn’t it odd, how both of us had childhoods that centered around kidnappings and we somehow managed to find each other?”
Ellie wondered if that old, shared trauma was part of what had drawn them to each other from the start. Maybe their injured souls had recognized a kindred spirit in each other, long before they’d consciously made the connection.
“When was the last time you searched for her?”
Clay traced his thumb over his eyebrow. “It’s been a couple years now. Before that, I was letting the search take over my life, almost like an obsession. Wasn’t sleeping well, spent my free time hunting for clues. I stopped when the sleep deprivation started impacting me on the job. Good thing. I’m guessing I was a lot closer to some kind of nervous breakdown than I ever realized at the time.”
“And now?”
He gave a helpless shrug. “Now, I compartmentalize. I have to. The victims of my cases deserve to have my undivided attention, which I can’t give them if there’s always a corner of my mind dedicated to catching a glimpse or a sign of Caraleigh.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Besides, it’s been twenty years. There’s a good chance I wouldn’t recognize my sister if she walked right up to me and said hello.”
The hollow note to his words told Ellie just how much that thought haunted him. She squeezed his hand, unsure of how to ease his pain.
He yawned and stretched before pulling Ellie back into his arms. “Enough with sharing hour for one night, let’s try to get some sleep. Tomorrow’s going to be a long day.”
His yawn triggered Ellie to do the same, and the mere mention of sleep prompted her eyelids to droop shut. She snuggled up against him, stealing comfort from the warm, hard length of his body spooned around hers.
As the steady rise and fall of his chest lulled Ellie into drifting off, she made a silent vow.
The moment Ellie returned to her desk at the Charleston PD, she was adding a new cold case to her list.
Caraleigh Lockwood, I will find you. One way or another.
29
My glee over dispatching Gabe to his fiery death only lasted as far as Grand Mound, Washington, a gas stop that was virtually indistinguishable from any other town in the state in that both greenery and Subarus were plentiful. By the time Milos guided the Civic off the Northbound 5 and into the outskirts of Seattle, my joy had vanished completely, replaced by a seething dissatisfaction that made my body itch in unreachable places.
Now, Milos was out finding us dinner, while here I was. Trapped in this cesspit of a motel room. The hideous orange comforter might as well have been constructed from wool scouring pads, the way the fabric scratched at my arms and bare feet. As for the mattress, well. I scooted over and winced when a loose spring dug into my shoulder blade. This old relic was better suited for one of my torture sessions than some of my hand-picked tools.
Depressing. That was the word for this hovel. My lip curled as I surveyed the dingy space. To temper my growing rage, I visualized lighting one of Milos’s spare matches and flicking it into the middle of the grim little room in an attempt to summon a bit of the joy I’d feel if I watch
ed this entire rat trap structure burst into flames. The owner deserved no less for taking such liberties with the name. Seattle’s Best Motel? What a joke.
This place was a pit that hadn’t been remodeled since the seventies, and that was being generous. I looked up at the ceiling, grimacing at a large, yellow stain that resembled the state of Florida. Nothing would convince me that these rooms had even been deep cleaned over the past five decades.
This was not how today should have turned out. Today was meant to be spent separating my former assistant from a variety of his body parts and savoring the steady drip-drip-drip of his life’s blood hitting the concrete floor. After the hours of distress he’d inflicted on me, I deserved to enjoy the melody of his scream, over and over again.
Once I’d bored of my torture sessions, Milos and I had planned to jet off from the private airstrip to a first-class resort of my choosing, where we’d enjoy all of the creature comforts we deserved while I planned the next step of my revenge with meticulous care.
But thanks to the Feds turning up the heat, the man providing our private jet got cold feet and backed out. Which led to our current lodging situation. Instead of room service, champagne, and eight-hundred thread count sheets, I was surrounded by stained Berber-style carpet, a toilet that never stopped running, and moth-eaten orange and brown curtains that reeked of decades of mildew and a bad acid trip.
My plans, in disarray once more. All thanks to that insufferable redhead.
Outside the grime-covered window, someone laid on their horn. Three times. Four. By the fifth noxious screech, I leapt to my feet, my fingers twitching with the urge to slam the driver’s head against the steering wheel until they stopped breathing. The threadbare floor shook as I stomped over to the door. By the time I reached for the knob, the honking ceased. Of course. Even this small joy was to be denied me.