The Girl from Silent Lake

by Leslie Wolfe

  Stepping backward, she tried to hide herself better, and let herself slide all the way to the ground, curled on her side. A twig snapped under her knee and the man stopped in his tracks, listening. She held her breath, her heart racing, pounding forcefully against her ribcage as he approached her hiding place. It took all her willpower to resist the urge to run, knowing she didn’t have a chance against the man and his ATV.

  He stopped a few feet away from her, so close she could hear his raspy breath. She could only see his boots from her vantage point. She froze, afraid he was close enough to hear her heartbeats, and stared at those boots, anticipating how the incapacitating blow would come.

  But he moved on, searching for her a few yards farther north.

  Breathing silently, she kept her eyes riveted on the man until he climbed on his four-wheeler and drove off, heading east. She waited another moment, illogically fearing he’d return if she made the tiniest sound.

  Then a vehicle approached at high speed and stopped near hers with a screech. She heard her name being called out loud.

  “Kay?” Elliot shouted. He opened the door of her SUV and honked a few times. “Kay?”

  Fifty

  Where

  He drove back in a frenzy, chaotic thoughts swirling in his turmoiled mind. He’d been close, so close he could feel her, he could smell her, but he was returning alone, defeated.

  Where the hell did she go?

  Had she been expecting him?

  She probably had, considering the cops had at least three of the cars he’d tampered with. When her engine stalled, she must’ve known it was him, coming for her, and she managed to do something completely unexpected.

  That was the girl he remembered, the girl who’d set his blood on fire when he was just a kid and had no idea what was going on with his own body. Fearless and proud, a girl whose arms bore the signs where her father had touched her in black-and-blue marks, yet laughed and danced in the sun with his sister, until they were both out of breath with laughter. A girl who fought back, and who’d resist him in ways none other had. A girl who’d known pain, and pain hadn’t defeated her. Not yet.

  He ached for her body, for her presence in his life. It was her fault, all of it, and it was high time she paid her dues. She’d always been there, in his home, in his backyard, leaving no place where he could withdraw except that dreaded barn. She’d always been there, with her short, windblown skirts, her bare thighs and the sight of her pink underwear when she climbed up in the walnut tree with his sister. Hers were the first breasts he’d noticed, through the thin fabric of her blouse, against the setting sun. And from that moment, all he could think of was those soft mounds of delicious flesh he craved sinking his teeth into.

  She’d always been to blame, the Kathy of his youth, the girl who’d haunted his dreams for the past sixteen years, alongside the memory of his mother. She’d been the one who had kindled the first fire in his groin and seeded restless thoughts and haunting images in his mind. She’d always been the one to blame for his unrelenting desires, thoughts, and urges he didn’t understand then, but had turned his life into a waiting game for the supreme moment of vengeance, of absolute, earthshattering release.

  Yet she’d slipped through his fingers. Where had she gone? And how much did she know?

  She got too close, if she talked to Mother.

  She shouldn’t’ve talked to Mother.

  The sight of them, sitting together, enjoying each other’s company, had left him raw and aching inside, the rage buried deeply in his heart screaming for their blood. Even if he willed himself to, he couldn’t erase the memory of the two women on that swing, not a care in the world, not a single thought about him.

  The son without a mother.

  The forgotten friend no one talked about.

  While she, the imposter who’d taken his rightful place, was welcome to hold Mother’s hand and wrap her treacherous arms around her.

  He drew air until his lungs hurt, then released it forcefully in a long, wailing, rage-filled cry that echoed against the mountain, then died, leaving behind the silence of all the creatures he’d terrified with his roar.

  Where on earth had she gone?

  And how could he get near her again?

  By the time he got to the house, he still didn’t have an answer, but he was starting to have an inkling of a plan. He put the ATV inside the garage, then climbed behind the wheel of his Cadillac and started the engine.

  Fifty-One

  Strategy

  “I know what’s wrong with the stupid car, and it’s an easy fix, remember?” Kay snapped at Elliot, only moments after she’d breathed in relief. The thought of her own fear, of her own weakness filled her with shame and anger. Just like a bimbo, for crying out loud, she admonished herself, her cheeks burning when she recalled how she’d run out of hiding straight into Elliot’s arms.

  “Hobbs can be here with another vehicle in thirty minutes,” Elliot insisted. “And I can’t understand, for the life of me, why you don’t want to ride in mine.”

  “Because I’ll go talk to him, not us,” she said, climbing behind the wheel. “Not both of us.”

  “Why the heck not?” he shouted. “You’re making no sense at all.”

  She grabbed the wheel tightly, squeezing it, an effort to calm her taut nerves. “If he sees you—law enforcement—he’ll lawyer up. He’ll demand a warrant to give you access to the premises. We’ll botch the whole thing, and while we fumble with it, he could kill those kids. What’s to keep him from tying up all the loose ends?”

  “We’ll get that warrant really quickly,” Elliot replied, his hands propped on his hips. Every few minutes, he ran his hand through his hair, probably missing his hat more than he realized. “He won’t have time to kill a woman and three kids and dispose of their bodies before we come back.”

  “Listen,” she said, putting Nick’s address into the GPS, “there’s no way he’s been holding those women in this house. No way. Have you seen their bodies on Dr. Whitmore’s table? Do you think that kind of torture didn’t make them scream? His closest neighbor across the street is fifty yards away!”

  “The land deed said two hundred and twenty-two acres,” he replied, seeming a little embarrassed. “I thought—”

  “That the house was smack in the center of it? No, his land extends behind the house, probably on the entire side of this mountain,” she replied, looking at the map intently. “I’m willing to bet there’s a place somewhere between his house here,” she tapped the GPS screen with her fingernail, “and the dead zone valley, the place where the victims’ cars broke down, and that place is where he does his torturing and killing.”

  “I ran a property search, and there wasn’t—” Elliot said, then whistled, his signature reaction to something unexpected. “But he’s the district attorney, right? He knows what people he puts in jail and for how long, and he knows their assets. Maybe someone gave him a hunting cabin or a lodge or maybe he’s just using one while the owner is locked up.”

  “Bottom line is, he’ll never tell us, but he might tell me.”

  “What, he’s just gonna pour you some coffee and say, by the way, let me tell you where I’ve been killing people?”

  She rolled her eyes, exasperated. “Not like that. But he might have his guard an inch lower with me, that’s all.” She looked at him, holding the stern gaze of his blue eyes without blinking. “I’m not a rookie, Elliot. I know what I’m doing. What would it take for you to trust me on this one?”

  “Kay, this man screwed up your car and tried to kidnap you! He wanted you locked up in the hellhole where he tortures and rapes his victims. He’s not someone you can toy with!”

  “I know,” she admitted, his words stirring primal fear in her gut. She hated him for that. “But I need you to trust me on this one.”

  Elliot groaned, visibly frustrated. “I have to call Sheriff Logan anyway,” he replied, his voice carrying tones of the doubt he was probably feeling. “I have
to get approval for all this, and get the team ready for a breach, once we have a location. We’re dealing with the district attorney and he lives in another county, so there could be a jurisdictional issue here.”

  “For you, maybe, but not for me, his childhood friend.”

  “Now I know,” he reacted, “you’re insane!”

  Kay smiled sheepishly and started her engine, ignoring the dashboard chimes and the engine failure messages. “I’ve got to get to Katse before it stalls again. If I keep pouring water into the damn thing, it will work.”

  Elliot leaned over, holding on to the door frame, to be on the same eye level with her. “If you’re right, and you seem to be annoyingly right just about every darn little thing, this man’s a serial killer, and you want to have a chat like old friends?”

  She smiled, thinking his concern exceeded the professional level and crossed into personal, and she liked it. She liked the thought of that, of someone caring about her enough to worry.

  “You know where I’ll be,” she replied sweetly. “I’ll be safe. If I don’t come out in an hour, and I don’t pick up my cell either, you can go ahead and break down the door. After you try calling me, all right?” She squeezed his forearm. “But we have to get there in separate cars. He can’t see yours anywhere near his property.”

  He nodded; his jaw clenched so tightly she could see the knotted muscles under his skin. “All right. Have it your way.”

  “I just need one favor. Could I borrow your backup weapon?”

  Fifty-Two

  Visit

  Nicholas Stevens, formerly Stinson, must’ve been highly successful in his law career. District attorney jobs weren’t famed for their paychecks, yet the once-homeless boy had done well for himself. The Cadillac Escalade, brand new, was one indication of his wealth. The house Kay was staring at was another.

  Lots of windows faced the driveway, the south frontage of the property guaranteeing sunshine all day long, and a side peek of the twilight now shooting red-and-crimson arrows against the reflective panes of glass. The property had a three-car garage, built in, with gray doors that complemented the charcoal roof and the stone accents. She pulled in, onto the wide driveway, not all the way to the garage doors, but to the side, as any polite guest would’ve done.

  Feeling her heart racing wildly in her chest, Kay breathed, settling her thoughts. Never in her wildest dreams had she envisioned herself thinking of someone she used to play with as a child as an unsub, ready to enter his property expecting to find clues to the many murders he’d committed and leads to the den of horrors where he kept the people he’d kidnapped. There was something deeply disturbing in that, as if Nick’s actions had tainted her entire being somehow, just because he’d been there during her childhood and she hadn’t sensed a thing.

  How could she not have seen him for who he was, back then, when she was young? She’d always trusted her instincts to a fault, up until learning who Nick was. Then all her confidence had come tumbling down, a pile of rubble where once stood her undoubted ability to infer conclusions from data without second-guessing herself.

  In her defense, she was twelve at the time, and she’d been protected by Meg and Roy Stinson, Nick’s parents, her eyes shielded from the truth. Around that time, her own family was going through a different brand of hell, and those memories were the ones that burned the most vividly, her nightmares raw now, just as they had been all the years since.

  But there would be a different time to process all those doubts and conflicted feelings. She wasn’t going to waste another second, while a woman and three children were spending endless moments of terror in captivity. She touched the handle of Elliot’s gun, tucked neatly in her pocket, and breathed slowly, steeling herself.

  Climbing out of her Explorer, she shot a quick glance over the shoulder, in the general direction of where Elliot’s car was, parked on the side of the main road and hidden behind a clump of thick firs. Then she walked quickly to the front door and rang the bell, reminding herself to breathe normally.

  Nick opened the door. When he recognized her, his face lit up.

  “Oh, my goodness, come in,” he said in a friendly voice loaded with excitement that sounded heartfelt to her ears. He held the door wide open for her. “I can’t believe it’s you.”

  Kay stepped inside, then shared a blood-curdling hug with him, thinking it lasted longer than it should have. The proximity of a brutal killer, the sensation of his skin touching hers, the burn of his breath against her cheek made her shudder, repulsed. She walked through the tiled hallway, noticing the fine furnishings, hand-carved pieces in cherrywood that matched the rest of the decor.

  Her eyes caught an unusual piece, hanging on the wall by a coatrack, but he guided her toward the living room with a hand on the small of her back, and she didn’t resist.

  She took a seat on a burgundy leather sofa and spent a moment looking around, noticing the many details of a perfectly decorated house. Gleaming hardwood floors from one end to another, oriental rugs here and there, stylish furniture again in dark cherrywood, including the large law bookcase and his home office desk, all in an open-plan layout that was breathtaking. Here and there, a perfectly matching art piece added to the room’s decor. And, on the dining room table, a large bouquet of roses, still wrapped in cellophane.

  Nick was about thirty-five, if memory served her, and had aged a little bit, gracefully. It was amazing how much better men aged than women; in his case, the success of his career instilling an air of power and self-reliance in his demeanor, the silver on his temples was becoming. He wore a suit and tie, the usual attire for court-appearing attorneys, and it flattered him, enhancing his image as a powerful prosecutor, one that should be feared in court.

  And elsewhere, Kay thought bitterly, struggling to reconcile who he really was with who he appeared to be. She continued to smile, though, perplexed as he took the flowers from the table and brought them to her.

  “You’re not going to believe it, but these are for you,” he said, his smile seemingly genuine. “I was planning on a surprise visit, later this evening. I heard you were in town, visiting old friends. I never expected you’d think of me.”

  She bristled, wondering why he would’ve come to visit her. Maybe because he’d failed to grab her earlier, when she’d slipped right between his fingers and he had to go home empty-handed. Had he planned to snatch her from her house, after dark?

  But seeing him smile like that, a dozen long-stemmed roses in his hand, it seemed surreal that only a couple of hours earlier he’d been pacing the woods in full camo gear, looking for her, while she trembled for her life, crouched on the ground.

  Yet she continued to play the charade, and accepted the flowers with her megawatt smile and whispered thanks, reminding herself Elliot was out there, ready to bust through the door at the slightest sign of trouble.

  “Where have you been all these years?” Kay asked, accepting a glass of wine from his hand and pretending to drink a little. She just moistened her lips in it, knowing from her time by Dr. Whitmore’s side in the San Francisco autopsy room that a spiked beverage will numb one’s lips in a few moments. But that was valid only for some drugs and poisons; not for all of them.

  He laughed quietly. He’d taken an armchair and crossed his legs, elbows on the armrests, and the subdued laughter faded into a smile. “I’ve been working my tail off,” he said. “I was in the private sector for a few years, making the big bucks, but the DA job suits me better.”

  “How interesting,” she replied, leaning forward. “Tell me, how does one get from teenage runaway to this?” She gestured toward the far side of the living room, where his desk was.

  A flicker of a frown clouded his eyes for the briefest of moments. He still reacted to having been banished from his childhood home, just as she’d profiled.

  “You know what they say,” he replied, “if there’s a will, there’s a way. And it was, for me. I worked two jobs, starting from the most menial you can th
ink of. I loaded produce on shelves at the local market, and packed garlic in Gilroy. Onions too,” he added, laughing as if he was telling someone else’s story. But that laughter didn’t touch his eyes, focused more and more intently on her, making her uneasy. “I taught myself to play ball, and fought hard to get into college, then got a scholarship. I was lucky, I guess,” he added, his eyes drilling into hers, unyielding.

  He licked his lips, and she fought the urge to run out of the house, screaming.

  His gesture betrayed his arousal and brought back the memory of Alison’s body on the autopsy table, her bruises fresh, her autopsy findings a terrifying story of what came out of that man’s lusting urges.

  And he was lusting now. For her.

  She repressed a shudder. “And? After law school?” she asked, relieved to hear her own voice sounded normal, casual, with the right amount of interest. None of her internal anguish was coming through.

  “Private practice,” he replied, still smiling. “That’s what paid for all this.” He picked up his wine glass and held it in the air. “Here’s to a happy and long overdue reunion.”

  Lifting her wine to her lips, she dipped them in the liquid again, then held on to the glass instead of setting it down on the table, an unspoken promise she was going to drink some more.

  “Then why leave it?” Kay asked. “Financial success is the ultimate success, they say.”

  “And they are right,” he replied, taking another sip of Cabernet. “But I’ve always yearned to deliver justice, to punish wrongdoers instead of defending them.”

  There was deep truth in his words. His entire being seemed to echo his words, sending a sparkle of something in his eyes, something reminding Kay of knife blades dipped in fresh blood. She believed him. She believed he still wanted the ones who’d done him wrong punished, again and again, even if by proxy, innocent women taking the place of the mother who’d shunned him away.