Nameless (Sinister Secrets Book 1)

by Candle Sutton

  A few sprinkles. She could remember that.

  She nodded, her head bobbing up and down like the idiot she was. “Thank you. Thank you. I won’t forget that.”

  He buried his fingers in her hair, jerked her head back, and claimed a hard, demanding kiss before pulling away. “I know you won’t.”

  Releasing her so abruptly that she stumbled, he turned for the door.

  “I’m going to clean up before dinner. I’d like you to make our newest family member feel welcome. You’ll start tomorrow.” He paused in the doorway and turned to look at her. “Her name is Ava.”

  “I’ll help her get settled.”

  Satisfied, he graced her with another of his enigmatic smiles before exiting the room.

  A breath eased from her.

  She’d managed to retain his approval, in spite of her mistake. Maybe he’d keep her around.

  She hoped so. She’d rather die than live apart from him.

  ₪ ₪ ₪

  The facts swirled inside Kevyn’s head. Four people were gone and no one had noticed anything! How did these things happen?

  Her review of Susan Conrad had turned up way too many leads to follow.

  Conrad spent most of her evenings in restaurants, bars, or clubs. Between work and her nightlife, the sheer number of strangers she encountered on a daily basis made following up on all those leads fruitless.

  Contrasted was introverted Wendy Watson, who was a vault teller and mostly interacted with coworkers and armored car drivers, went straight home after work, and whose only social outlet seemed be her church.

  Oliver Richards seemed to be right in the middle. He was active in online gaming communities and spent a fair amount of his free time traveling and attending different gaming events and Comicons.

  And then there was Ava. At only eight, her social life was limited to school and family. She played soccer, but it was off season. She’d been snatched walking home from school.

  None of them lived in the same area, frequented the same businesses, or attended the same events.

  Yet somehow each of these people had made it on their unsub’s radar.

  If they could figure out how, they’d have a better shot at stopping him from taking anyone else.

  Their pictures stared at her, begging her to piece the puzzle together, but she didn’t have enough facts. Not yet.

  “Kev.”

  The sound of her name drew her from her thoughts. She turned from the white board to find the rest of her team watching her.

  Forcing a smile she didn’t feel, she dropped into the closest chair. “Sorry. I was trying to piece it all together.”

  “Did you find anything to indicate Conrad might have special significance to our unsub?”

  Another failure. She shook her head. “I wish. I don’t have enough information to make any kind of connection at this time.”

  “It’s okay. Everything we learn is one more piece of the puzzle.”

  She knew that. But with four people counting on them to solve this puzzle, she wanted to see the whole picture, not only another piece.

  Dak pushed back from the table. “Let’s call it a night, guys. We’ll reconvene in the morning.”

  ₪ ₪ ₪

  Kevyn pulled into the cracking driveway and killed the engine, but didn’t climb out of her car. On the seat beside her, a large thin crust veggie pizza cooled, but for the moment she didn’t care. The fatigue had hit, as she’d known it would.

  But she’d made it through the day.

  She’d learned long ago to compartmentalize and she did it well, but it always caught up with her. Usually when she had a few minutes alone with her thoughts.

  If only she hadn’t gone to see Esterson after leaving the office. Maybe she could’ve kept the emotions at bay until they went away.

  Maybe.

  But she had visited him, had looked at his hurt and accusatory face, had to face her own betrayal of his trust.

  Would she have done things differently if given a chance?

  No. Everyone had lived through the day. She’d done what she had to do.

  That didn’t make the truth any easier to face.

  No one won on a day like today.

  Her stomach growled, the sound filling the enclosed cabin of her 1969 Mustang.

  A sigh burst from her. Life moved on. She needed to as well.

  Besides, if she got moving, she should have time to take down a wall before going to bed.

  She slung her purse strap over her shoulder, grabbed the pizza box, and pushed open the door, which responded with a squeal.

  Really ought to grease those hinges.

  She pushed down the lock and closed the door.

  Even though it was only seven, darkness had descended long before she’d driven home. The joys of the encroaching winter.

  At least she’d mounted motion activated floodlights at the corners of the house right after moving in, so she wasn’t approaching the house in the dark.

  She passed the overgrown shrubs – those would have to go sooner rather than later – glanced at the dirty brick walls, which needed a good pressure washing, and climbed the creaky wooden steps that she always half expected to give way beneath her weight.

  As she approached the primer white door she’d installed after moving in last week, she balanced the pizza box on one hand and twisted her key in the deadbolt with the other.

  The door swung open on silent hinges. She bumped the light switch with her elbow, flooding the entryway with light from the antique chandelier above her head.

  That was one item she wouldn’t rip out.

  She deposited the pizza on the narrow table right inside the door, then re-engaged the deadbolt.

  Picking up the pizza, she headed left, past her plastic-shrouded furniture in the living room, then pushed through the swinging doors into the kitchen. Old florescent lights cast the kitchen in a harsh white glow. A faint buzzing was the only sound as she set the pizza down, shrugged off her purse, and surveyed the dated space.

  After washing her hands, she munched on a piece of pizza.

  Maybe the wall separating the kitchen from the living room was tonight’s project. She was reasonably sure it was load-bearing, but she could at least get the sheetrock out of the way tonight. This weekend maybe she could work on reinforcing the support system.

  She’d need to hire someone to help her. Those support beams were too much for her to manage alone.

  Last weekend had been spent on her bedroom and bathroom and she was satisfied with those two areas. The kitchen was the logical choice for the next project.

  Not that she spent much time in it.

  Still, a functional kitchen was a must. Just in case she did decide to use it.

  The pizza was tasty, but turned to cardboard in her mouth. All she could think about was Esterson in jail.

  And little Ava Esterson, out there alone.

  Hopefully alive.

  She swallowed a bite, the crust scratching her throat as it went down.

  Enough.

  She shoved the box containing the remaining pizza into the fridge and quickly changed into her ripped jeans and oversized long sleeved t-shirt.

  Five minutes later, with heavy work boots protecting her feet, a mask over her mouth, goggles over her eyes, and having determined the location of the studs, she hefted the sledgehammer.

  Traitor. Esterson’s accusation echoed in her head.

  She slammed the sledgehammer into the sheetrock.

  The first blow silenced Esterson’s voice.

  The second blow released her tension.

  The third blow unleashed her tears.

  She blinked furiously to clear her vision. Tears trickled unchecked down her cheeks. She swung again. Again.

  The sheetrock crumbled into rubble around her feet.

  She kept swinging.

  Everyone walked away! It could’ve ended so much worse!

  Seriously. What more could she have done?


  Nothing. She’d done what she needed to do. But that still didn’t change the fact that a man was in jail for loving his daughter, while the little girl was still missing.

  Reaching a stud, she moved to the other side and kept pounding away at the wall, as if somehow the wall were to blame for the day’s problems.

  Her arms quaked from the exertion, but she pressed forward.

  Almost there.

  When she finally reached the end of the wall, fine white dust hung in the air, matching the layer that covered the floor on either side of the wall.

  This was precisely why her furniture was covered with plastic.

  She dropped to the floor, leaning back against the closest cabinet, and surveyed the carnage.

  She’d gotten a lot done. And she was pretty sure she felt every blow, too.

  Her chest heaved, her muscles felt like putty, and her fingers ached from clenching the sledgehammer’s handle.

  Silence descended with a weight greater than the piles of shattered sheetrock littering the area.

  Why had today hit her so hard?

  Sure, there was always an emotional recoil from empathizing with someone she had to talk down, but it didn’t often run over her like today had.

  Something about Esterson, a father so desperate to save his daughter that he’d challenge a group of FBI agents, cut deep into her heart.

  Or maybe she was overly tired. And stressed.

  Moving across several states, starting a new job, and buying and working on a hundred-year-old fixer-upper would wear anyone out.

  She needed to clean this mess up and get some rest. Things would look better in the morning.

  And once they found Ava Esterson, maybe she could speak on the father’s behalf, get his sentence reduced.

  She wheeled in the 50-gallon trash can she kept outside the back door and began tossing the bigger chunks of drywall inside.

  Tomorrow, she’d attack the case with fresh eyes.

  Tonight? Tonight she’d pour a glass of wine and relax in her jetted tub.

  There was nothing more she could do for Ava Esterson tonight.

  ₪ ₪ ₪

  The body was heavier than he remembered.

  Or maybe it was the stiffening of her dead limbs making her more awkward to move.

  Either way, this was taking much longer than it should. Every passing second increased the odds, however small they might be, that someone would see him.

  Maybe he should’ve dumped her in the ocean. It sure would’ve been easier.

  But she deserved the humiliation of being found.

  A watery grave was too good for her.

  He’d offered her so much and she’d rejected it. Rejected him. Now the world would know that she was the one who’d been rejected.

  The boat rocked beneath his feet, the coming storm making the waves rougher than usual. It’d taken him over thirty minutes to motor out here.

  Hopefully he’d make it back before the storm hit.

  Digging his collarbone into her ribcage, he flung her over his shoulder. Her arms smacked his back as her body settled.

  The boat lurched beneath him, enough to make him stumble in spite of his sea-legs.

  The body shifted slightly and he barely maintained his balance.

  Stupid woman. This was all her fault.

  He shuffled toward the edge of the boat and gingerly stepped up on the seat cushions.

  Darkness cloaked the night. If not for the moon shining brightly overhead, he wouldn’t be able to see a darn thing. Of course, the wind blowing the storm clouds in guaranteed that the moonlight would be short-lived. He needed to get this done, fast.

  The pier, used mostly by fishermen during the day and all but abandoned at night, had a few old lights spaced throughout. At least half of them were dark.

  The top of the pier was even with his chest. Not the perfect height for what he was about to do, but close enough.

  Now for the tricky part. One wrong move, one miscalculation, and both he and the woman would end up in the murky waters of the Puget Sound.

  Burying his hands in the soft tissue of her stomach, he lobbed the body backward. Her torso flopped onto the rough wood, her head smacking down with a satisfying crack.

  The boat bobbed aggressively beneath his feet but the ropes he’d secured to the moorings kept it from moving too far.

  He braced one gloved hand on the planks of the pier and waited for the boat to stop rocking. The woman’s legs dangled over the edge, but he’d managed to get enough of her weight on the pier that she wasn’t going anywhere.

  Still, as the boat settled beneath him, he shoved her further onto the dock.

  It wouldn’t do for her to slide into the water now, not after all the trouble he’d gone through.

  He snagged his backpack of supplies and tossed it on the pier. The dull thunk echoed in the still night.

  Thunder rumbled in the distance. The storm clouds were closer than they had been.

  Soon, he’d lose the moonlight.

  Fear of discovery, and the impending storm, spurred him to move faster.

  He hurried to the back of the boat and scaled the wooden ladder mounted to the pier. As soon as his shoes hit solid ground, he jogged to the woman and dragged her across the boards to the closest lamppost, which was one of many that wasn’t working.

  Retrieving his backpack, he knelt beside the body and unzipped the bag. His fingers went straight to the hunting knife he’d placed inside earlier.

  Moonlight glinted off the blade as he slid it out of the sheath.

  He shoved the woman’s hair off her face and pressed the blade into her forehead.

  Carving the message took longer than he’d expected. It was also harder than anticipated.

  As he finished, he pulled back and looked at his handiwork.

  It looked like a first grader had written it.

  The letters, rough and uneven, filled her forehead and extended into her hairline.

  No matter. He’d gotten his point across.

  Next, he sliced through the thin material of the clothes he’d given her. Clothes he’d picked out specifically for her. Nice garments, made of quality materials.

  She didn’t deserve them.

  The fabric fell to the ground around her in pieces.

  Good. Now he’d stripped her of her identity as one of his own.

  He turned and hurled the knife toward the open water. The blade spun through the darkness, catching reflections of moonlight every few turns, before arcing into the black sea.

  The cops would never find it way out there.

  And even if by some miracle they did, the salt water would destroy any evidence.

  He pulled the coil of rope from his bag and looped it around her wrists.

  A fat raindrop splatted on his hand. The storm had arrived.

  Stupid witch! This was all her fault!

  He cinched the rope and quickly knotted it.

  Rising, he tossed the other end of the rope over the top of the lamppost. The rope swung toward him, fueled by the increasing wind. He snagged the end and jerked.

  The body rose from the dock like a zombie. Her head lolled forward, while her legs hung limply beneath her.

  The macabre dance of the dead sent chills through his core.

  Or maybe it was the wind and rain.

  When he’d hoisted her high enough that her feet no longer touched the ground, he looped the rope around the lamppost and tied it off.

  As the rain increased, plastering his hair to his head, he admired his work.

  The wind swayed her body from side to side, the tips of her bright pink manicured toes scraping the rough wood planks. Wearing nothing more than the lacy undergarments she’d brought with her, her white skin practically glowed in the black night.

  Someone would find her. Probably tomorrow.

  Then the whole world would know what she was.

  Rejected and unworthy.

  Five

  Ebony jerked awake
and sat straight up in bed.

  Something had woken her. But what?

  The bed beside her was empty. Either Jax hadn’t returned home yet or he’d decided not to join her.

  She looked at the clock. After midnight. Jax should’ve been home by now.

  Rain pelted the outside of her window. A rumble of thunder resonated in her chest.

  As the thunder faded, she heard it.

  Music.

  Faint, but undeniable.

  Jax was at the piano.

  She settled back onto the soft cotton sheets and listened as he pounded the keys, the melody speaking to her in ways words could not.

  Could any of the others hear the music?

  She hoped not. It was a special thing, a connection between Jax and her. Not something she wanted any of the others to experience.

  Thunder continued to rumble, each clap temporarily drowning out the song Jax played.

  But the music was always there when the thunder stopped.

  Just like Jax.

  He’d been there for her when she’d needed him most. Always would be.

  The others may come and go, but she would never leave his side. Never. And there was nothing anyone could ever do to change her mind.

  ₪ ₪ ₪

  Freshness lingered in the crisp morning, courtesy of last night’s rains.

  Kevyn inhaled the damp air.

  Nice. She hadn’t been through a storm like that in a long time. Too long.

  Thunderstorms always brought back sweet memories from home. The good days, before the cancer had stolen her mum.

  Hinges protested as she opened her car door and slid behind the wheel.

  Still hadn’t taken the time to grease those.

  She inserted the key into the ignition.

  The engine sputtered, but didn’t turn over.

  Not today.

  She cranked it again.

  The sputtering lasted a little longer, but still didn’t catch.

  “Come on, come on.” Her mutterings were loud in the quiet vehicle.

  She tried again. More sputtering, but this time the engine roared to life.

  Phew!

  She really needed to get this thing looked at. Before it left her stranded somewhere awful.

  Today. She’d call today. Maybe one of her new coworkers could recommend a good shop.