Not the slightest hint of pity twinged in his chest at the sight of him. This almost-brother. This almost-son.
Orin had taken his time to return—crushed more by Mindy’s desire to leave than the fear of what she might tell someone. He’d given her a house to sleep in, food to eat, books to read. He’d given her a home when she had none, and this was what she did? She left?
“What have you done, Hank?” Orin asked, his rage more like a gentle simmer than a pot boiling over now.
“She knew how I felt about her,” Hank said, sniffling. “She called to me after you left. Said she needed me. Said she realized she wanted me now—that she loved me too.”
Orin’s lip curled. “And you believed her?”
Giving a helpless shrug, he said, “Have you discovered the mysteries of the human heart during your experiments? Because I can’t explain what power she has over me.”
Orin never thought the boy terribly bright, but wondered now if Hank was pulling a fast one on him. The pathetic nasal whine didn’t help.
“I kicked my door open, desperate to get to her. I’ve never loved anyone this much, Orin, you have to believe me.” Hank’s lip quivered, but his eyes remained dry. “When I picked the lock, she was waiting there with a weapon of some kind—I don’t even know what it was. She hit me with it. Broke my nose, clawed at my face, kicked me when I was down. And then … then she ran. She left us, Orin.”
The reality that Mindy was gone and not coming back hit him. Orin swayed on his feet.
“The police will come looking for you,” Hank said. “But if you’re cooperative and tell them you only took Mindy, there’s no way they’ll find out about the others. You can tell them you took her because you always wanted a daughter.
“Throw a deer carcass on the table in the cellar and tell them you use the place for curing meats—they’ll never know.
“I’ll disappear until this blows over. I won’t say a word to anyone and when they slap you on the wrist for child endangerment, I’ll be back to help you again.” Hank managed a small smile. Orin assumed it hurt. “We’ll be better than ever. Two girls a year instead of one.”
Orin still very much wanted to bury him alive. But the idea of more patients intrigued him.
“You’re all I’ve got, Orin,” Hank said, his puffy eyes downcast.
There was a twinge at that. Somewhere deep in his chest. Orin knew the boy meant it.
“You’re like a father to me. I’m sorry I screwed up. But we can fix it,” he said. “Lie low, confess to nothing, and we’ll be back in business in a couple months. I swear it. No one will care that much about a missing homeless kid.”
“You did.”
Hank swallowed hard. “It’ll never happen again.”
When the police showed up with cadaver dogs a week later, Orin knew how foolish he’d been. How the mysteries of the human heart truly were unexplainable.
Orin vowed never to care for a homeless kid ever again either.
PRESENT DAY
CHAPTER 24
Jade remained uncharacteristically quiet for the drive back.
When they pulled into Riley’s apartment complex, she spotted the yellow glow of her living room’s lights behind the closed blinds. Riley had left Michael a key under the mat just before Jade picked her up.
“I feel like I’m supposed to say something insightful,” Jade said.
“About?”
“About the fact that you can do what you just did. I mean … how did you know Megan was pregnant? You just met her.”
Riley explained the thumping in her stomach. How she had just known how to interpret the message. How had she known it was three months and not three weeks? She couldn’t answer that. Or why she was sure it was a boy and that he’d be perfectly healthy.
“I’m … it’s … how can you be like a sister to me and I didn’t know this about you?”
“I’m still figuring it out myself.”
Jade nodded. “Just … you can tell me anything, okay? I hate the idea that you had this, I don’t know, talent and you felt like you couldn’t talk to me about it.”
Riley couldn’t remember the last time her friend had looked so … dejected. Jade idly rubbed a thumb back and forth along the bottom of her steering wheel.
“The cops say they need evidence if I want to get Francis caught for the stalking,” Riley said. “Vaguely creepy behavior isn’t enough.”
Jade perked up, turning in her seat. “And?”
“He’s crazy flirty,” she said. “What if I actually flirt back for once and make him think he’s got a chance, but try to get him to confess to the tracker first? I could, I don’t know, pretend his persistence is hot or something twisted.”
“Maybe,” she said. “But you won’t, like, meet with him, right?”
“God no.” Riley shivered. “I can tell him I want to see him sometime soon, but I have a super jealous boyfriend and I have to wait until he’s out of town before we can go there?”
“Then when he admits he’s been stalking you, you can show your cop friend the proof,” Jade said, nodding.
“It’s the best I got.”
“Go for it,” Jade said. “Once you have that, can’t they follow him and pull him over for some minor traffic violation to get him in custody?”
“Something like that,” Riley said. “Thanks for coming tonight.”
“Duh,” Jade said, then pulled her into an awkward hug across the center console. “Keep me in the loop! And stay safe.”
As Riley hurried to her apartment, she felt buoyant. She had something to do. And Jade thought she was only half off her rocker.
She was so preoccupied as she jogged up the steps that she almost tripped when she saw the small bouquet of flowers sitting by her door. Half a dozen red roses in a small, cream-colored vase.
Smiling, she picked it up and plucked out the card. Then her stomach dropped.
I was thinking about you today. It’s been so long since I’ve seen you. Since I’ve heard your voice. Write faster, my little medium. I’m going crazy waiting …
Francis had been watching her enough to figure out which apartment was hers. He’d found a way through the gate, and then watched her come and go from her apartment. More than being fully creeped out that he’d been here lurking around, she hated that he’d been watching her without her realizing it.
How many times?
What if he’d seen her put the key underneath the mat and had grabbed it before Michael had gotten here?
Hands shaking, she opened her door and was greeted by the smell of garlic and pasta sauce. She placed the vase on the coffee table but kept the card.
“Hey,” she said, a slight wobble to her voice as she tossed her purse onto the couch and heading for the kitchen.
“Hello!”
She stilled in the doorway. How the hell one person could have made that much of a mess was beyond her. A pot of bubbling spaghetti sauce sat on one of the burners, a red ring of splatter decorating the white surface of the stove top. Sauce had splattered on the backsplash and the handle of the oven. Noodles lay in a strainer positioned above a pot, a lone one lying on the stained stovetop as if crawling to safety. Crumbs, mashed garlic, and an unsettling amount of grated cheese lay scattered across her cutting board. A quick glance toward the trashcan he’d pulled out from underneath the sink told her he’d already burned the first attempt at cheesy garlic bread. A line of pasta sauce had smeared across his cheek.
This she could deal with. Her goofy, sweet boyfriend doing his damnedest to be there for her.
“You made dinner,” she said, trying to sound lighthearted. “I thought you said you were a terrible cook.”
“Oh, I am. I burned the noodles the first time.”
“How?”
He shrugged. “Also, you didn’t have everything you needed for sauce, so I just added a lot of spices and garlic to ketchup.”
She snorted. Then she crossed her arms to hide her shaking hands. “You�
�re joking.”
“What! They’re both made from tomatoes! I followed the recipe I found …” As if determined to prove her wrong, he took a spoon and dipped it into his concoction, then defiantly swallowed the heaping spoonful. Then gagged. “Holy shit.” He coughed. “That’s … that’s not good.”
She waded through the mess, wiped a thumb across his cheek, and kissed it. “Thank you for trying. But I’m not eating that. I’m ordering a pizza.” That damn waver to her voice returned.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” he said.
Dragging him into the living room, she gently pushed him onto the couch. Normally he would have arched an eyebrow or said something racy, but he had just spotted the vase on the table.
Sitting next to him, she silently handed him the card.
Her hands shook again.
“Fuck.” He looked up at her. “I got here about two hours ago—he left this while I was here.”
The shaking wasn’t just fear. She was pissed. Even though she’d only been living her life on pins and needles for over two weeks with the knowledge of the tracker, he’d been watching her for well over twice as long. Francis was in this for the long haul and Riley was fucking sick of it.
“He was here,” he said. “What if he’d decided to force his way in and you’d been alone?”
She grabbed his free hand. “But that didn’t happen.”
“It could have.” He tossed the card onto the coffee table. “I want to beat this guy’s fucking face in.”
Without preamble, she told him her plan.
“You still want to interact with this asshole after this?” he said, gesturing at the card and flowers.
“The police side of things could take months, if not longer. Both the non-emergency operator and Detective Howard said there isn’t much they can do without proof. I think Howard believes me, but they can’t just go arrest the guy for being unsettling, can they? He hasn’t acted in a way to threaten my safety yet. An email, a surprise visit, and flowers. Plus, there’s no way to even prove Francis is the one who left these here. He didn’t sign his name or use mine.
“Let’s say we convince a cop to go talk to him. What if it spooks him or pisses him off? What would Francis do then? And I hate to play the damsel-in-distress card, but unless a cop agrees to watch me and my house twenty-four-seven, I don’t want to risk pissing this dude off. All he’d need is a window when I’m alone and I could be in deep shit.”
Michael sighed. “I can’t just beat his face in?”
Riley ran her thumb across his palm. “If he can be a creepy, sneaky piece of shit, then so can I.” After patting his leg, she fetched her laptop.
“You’re going to do this now?”
“You bet your ass.” Plopping down next to him, she powered on her computer.
When she signed into her page, he was logged in too. She often set her profile to the ghost setting so no one knew she was on—he almost always logged in at night, the circle by his name orange now. Idle. Riley was keenly aware of Michael next to her, watching her every move.
Pulling up a chat window, she told herself to keep her bubbling rage in check. She needed him to admit to the tracker and the flowers now. She wasted no time.
Riley Thomas: Got your flowers.
Orange flicked to green within seconds.
Hank Carras: like them?
Riley Thomas: Yes, but are you stalking me, Francis?
Hank Carras: you drive me crazy. not my fault i cant get you out of my head. i want to see you
Riley Thomas: They’re very pretty.
Hank Carras: just like you. i got you a dozen but you have to come get the other six in person
Michael grunted.
Riley Thomas: So you’ve been thinking about me too? Why can’t you get me out of your head?
Hank Carras: you look in a mirror lately?
Riley Thomas: That it? You think I’m hot?
Hank Carras: you dont back down. i like a woman thats honest about what she wants
Riley wasn’t sure how to respond to that, fingers hovering over the keys.
Hank Carras: you should come get the rest of these flowers
Riley swung the conversation back to asinine chitchat for a few minutes, partly because flirting with Francis had lost its minor appeal. She felt like she “got” him now and didn’t at all like what she’d found. The urge to curse him to hell and back for putting her—putting Mindy … putting Renee—through all this made her so angry she swore red seeped into her vision.
Hank Carras: you got plans this weekend?
Riley Thomas: My usual
Silence.
Riley found it hard to believe this guy was so delusional. He saw the anonymous flower drop as, what—romantic? Thoughtful? She felt nothing short of unnerved. Violated.
But this was the same guy who’d lured Mindy to Orin knowing she’d die, then somehow convinced himself he loved her.
Hank Carras: so when we going to do this?
Riley’s heartbeat stumbled. Get him to confess without pissing him off, without him catching on that you don’t mean a word of any of this.
Riley Thomas: Do what?
Hank Carras: dont be coy. you say you want to finish your story but you wouldnt keep talking to me if you wanted to keep it professional. wouldnt chat me up in emails all the time
Hank Carras: you wouldnt thank me for the flowers. youd tell me to leave you alone
Riley Thomas: Happen to you often?
Hank Carras: never. i know women and i know how to tell what they want
Riley Thomas: And what do you think I want?
He only allowed a few seconds to pass before he replied.
Hank Carras: i think you want me to fuck you
Michael clenched his fists and folded his arms, like it was all he could do to keep himself from putting said fists through her computer screen.
Francis then proceeded to tell her in rather graphic detail what he wanted to do to her. Riley took screenshot after screenshot. She assumed he kept going because she didn’t tell him to stop. Even if she did, she wasn’t sure he’d comply.
Maybe he thought she was so hot and bothered by what he said that she was getting herself off to his words. Have to get him to confess and then I can shut this down.
Finally there was a lull in his barrage of X-rated suggestions.
“This guy is fucking disgusting,” Michael said.
Hank Carras: well?
Hank Carras: how does that sound?
Riley Thomas: Like I know what I’m going to be doing in the shower later
Hank Carras: you’re driving me fucking crazy, baby
Riley Thomas: Same
Riley Thomas: I gotta ask you something though. Been bothering me for a while
Hank Carras: whats that?
Riley Thomas: I found a tracker on my car. You leave that for me like you left the flowers?
Silence. A long silence. Long enough that his green dot turned idle-orange.
Shit. She hoped he’d been so riled up that he wouldn’t rabbit on her now. That he wasn’t on his way here now in a rage. Appeal to his ego, appeal to his ego …
Riley Thomas: If you did, I’m not mad
Nothing.
Riley Thomas: I know you must have been so worried about trusting me. I was worried about trusting you, too. But I feel like we’ve really gotten to know each other these past weeks. Honestly, I could have been done with the article weeks ago, but I’ve been stalling so we can keep talking
Riley Thomas: I can’t even tell half the time if my boyfriend still wants me. It’s nice to feel wanted
Orange flipped to green.
Hank Carras: hes a moron if he doesnt know what hes got
Hank Carras: i’ll turn you out in 30 seconds
Riley Thomas: I can’t wait for the day he leaves town in two weeks
Hank Carras: you wont be able to walk when i’m done with you
Riley Thomas: so … ?
Hank Carras: yeah
, the tracker was mine. i’m sorry i had to do that … but you can’t blame a guy for being suspicious
Riley Thomas: I knew it! I’m glad you told me.
Hank Carras: i’ll make it up to you
Riley Thomas: You better
Hank Carras: two weeks is going to kill me
Riley Thomas: Haha. I gotta go. I’m crawling out of my skin
Hank Carras: haha. id say im sorry but im not
He typed out his phone number.
She logged out, slammed her computer shut, tossed it onto the couch, and all but bolted for the kitchen. A colorful string of curses poured out of her when she realized she’d finished the last of her wine. She’d never been a huge fan of hard liquor, but she had vodka in the freezer for emergencies.
If this wasn’t a goddamn emergency, she didn’t know what was.
She considered pouring herself a shot like a civilized person, but then thought “fuck it” and swigged directly from the bottle. The grunt she let out was one of disgust, but she wasn’t sure how much of it was due to Francis and how much was due to the vodka. It burned her throat on the way down. It burned her eyes and her nose. She ran a hand across her mouth; her nose was running. Was she crying? Dammit, she was crying.
Michael stood in the doorway, watching her lose her shit. He’d become good at letting her fall the fuck apart both without abandoning her or crowding her before she was ready.
The reality that Francis had been keeping tabs on her with the tracker was one thing—still spying, but detached. She’d convinced herself she could get around that. That she was still safe.
The fact that he’d been on her doorstep—with Michael inside her apartment—was what got to her. Michael worried about what could have happened if Francis forced his way in. But, dear god, Michael could have been just as easily surprised if Francis came in armed. Francis was imposing, overconfident, and paranoid. Pair that with the fact that he’d both sexually assaulted and murdered someone before …
Sniffling hard, Riley put down the bottle of vodka—she wasn’t sure how much of it she’d actually drunk—and wrapped her arms around Michael’s middle, her temple against his chest. He returned the hug.
The Forgotten Child Page 32
