Part of her knew Jay was probably right, that Chelsea was probably in the back of some guy’s car right now, too far away for them to help her. But she couldn’t just wait for Sara, or someone else, to arrive. Even if the police did show up in the next few minutes, she had no new information to give them. She’d already heard Rafe telling his sister about the club and the spiked drink and the brimstone tattoo, which was really all they had to go on at this point anyway.
She started pacing up the sidewalk, following the path along the street, certain Jay was right behind her. There was no way he’d let Violet out of his sight now.
“I should never have brought her here,” Violet groaned, her steps speeding up now.
They reached the crosswalk and Violet repeatedly pressed the button for the crosswalk signal to turn with her thumb, as if the repetitive action might spur the signal along. It didn’t and she grew more and more agitated, hopping from one foot to the other.
“There’s no way you could’ve known.” Jay tried to assuage her, but Violet didn’t want to hear that now. The weight of Chelsea’s predicament was crushing her.
“Except that’s not entirely true, is it? I’ve gotten myself into jams before, why did I think this one would turn out any different? I shouldn’t have involved anyone else. This is my burden, not hers.”
The signal changed and Violet started jogging, and then running, not wanting to let Jay make excuses for what she’d done. For the situation she’d put Chelsea in.
This was all her fault. And if Chelsea got hurt . . .
She’d never forgive herself.
“Which way should we go?” Violet asked, her voice rising when they reached the other side. But the question didn’t have an answer, not really, and she threw her hands in the air. “I have no idea what to do, Jay. She could be anywhere!”
She didn’t want to cry. Not here, not now, but her voice trembled and the frustration of their dilemma overcame her.
Tacoma was a huge city. Sprawling . . . with thousands upon thousands of homes. Thousands upon thousands of places he could have taken a girl to hide her.
And Violet knew what he was capable of. She’d seen the proof firsthand.
Hunching forward, Violet swiped at the tears she couldn’t manage to stop, rubbing her eyes. She felt helpless. Hopeless.
Useless.
“We’ll find her,” Jay offered, but the conviction was absent from his voice. Even he knew he couldn’t make a promise like that.
Sniffing, Violet stood upright again, and then she saw it.
She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to decide whether it was real or not. Or rather if it was only because her makeup was burning her eyes that the spot flitted into her vision. It was gone as quickly as it had appeared.
But she was almost sure she hadn’t imagined it. That it hadn’t been a trick of her mind . . . that single, tiny blue fleck.
She took a step one way, trying to re-create the effect.
“We should go back to the club and wait for the pol—”
“Shhh!” Violet demanded, trying to concentrate.
When it didn’t come back, she took a step forward, and then another and another. Her heart seemed to match her paces now, quick and erratic, creating a staccato rhythm against the sidewalk, and inside her chest.
Nothing again.
She went back the way she’d come, to the place where she’d started, and still, nothing.
And then she crossed that threshold, moving one step farther. And again.
There it was . . . a quick burst of red.
And another step . . . a blast of yellow. Then one more . . . this time green.
The colors. They were back.
She laughed with relief, sounding deranged, unstable. “He’s here,” she practically sobbed. “We can find her.”
And then she was off, following a path that was gradually blinding her and could only mean one thing. That she was chasing a killer.
It was slow going, and they had to backtrack up and down side streets more than once as Violet would find the trail, and then lose it again. The neighborhoods they combed grew and more and more bleak, and more and more impoverished and menacing the longer they ran.
It felt like they’d been searching for hours, but according to Jay only five minutes had passed. Violet was worried. What if they were tracking the wrong guy? What if he didn’t have Chelsea?
Or what if he’d had her and already disposed of her?
The image of Veronica Bowman flashed through her mind, discarded at a home that wasn’t her own, a needle buried in her arm.
She’d been drugged too.
But Violet had something on her side that this guy didn’t know about. Her ability.
She could track him. And she had no intention of giving up.
Turning once more, Violet flinched as a pair of dogs hit the chain-link fence that contained them. They were frenzied and tried their best to get at her and Jay. Jay’s hand closed over hers as he drew her backward while the animals barked and growled, snarling and gnashing their teeth. There was nothing about the display that was meant for show. Those dogs would just as soon rip their throats out as let them pass.
“Holy crap,” Violet whispered, still not letting go of him when they reached the streetlight on the corner. She took a breath. “That scared the crap outta me.”
Jay’s grip tightened. “You and me both.”
They skipped that street, deciding to avoid Cujo and his friend. But they couldn’t stop. They were close, Violet could tell, because her vision grew more and more impaired.
When they turned down the next block, Violet gasped as her eyesight nearly imploded in a shattering display. But through the eruptions she thought she saw an outline ahead of her, dark and shadowy and hard to make out among the colors bursting in her way.
People. They were too far away, and were obscured by the night—and her deteriorating vision. But Violet knew . . .
It was Chelsea . . .
And him.
“Chelsea!” Violet shouted before she could stop herself, nearly stumbling over her own feet as she rushed forward, trying to reach them.
Just before they vanished once more.
SEE NO EVIL
THE GIRL WAS SLOWING THEM DOWN, BUT IT made no difference to him. He was anxious, sure, but Colton’s condition probably hadn’t improved since they’d left him. He was probably no different than he had been yesterday. And no different than the day before that.
He was in no shape to appreciate his girl just yet.
Evan would have to wait to see the look on his friend’s face when he presented him with his new toy.
In the meantime, it was a struggle just to get her home.
She fell, more than once, ripping her tights on the jagged-edged concrete of the broken sidewalks, and then laughing over the blood that oozed down her knees. He much preferred the drugged version of this girl, though, over the hard, prickly one he’d first met.
“C’ai tell yoo a seeee-krit?” The girl had her arms wrapped around each of their necks, as both he and Kisha dragged her along. The toes of her boots scuffed along the ground and her head lolled forward. He wondered how much longer she’d even be conscious.
He and Kisha exchanged glances over the back of her head.
“What’s that, sweetie?” Kisha asked her, her voice taking on a motherly quality that he couldn’t help being proud of. Ever since Colton’s accident she’d stepped into the role without being asked.
It was what he’d always wanted, for them to be the perfect family.
“I . . . don . . .” She started to drift away, her words losing steam. “I don’t . . . feel so . . . good . . .” The last words came out in a whisper.
Kisha was already panting, and he didn’t know how much more of the girl’s dead weight she could manage.
That’s when the voice cut through the shadows, finding its way to them, and he knew they were in trouble.
“Chelsea!” someone called out
from not so far away, and the girl in his arms perked up, lifting her head as high as she could.
Chelsea. Her name must be Chelsea, he realized, glancing once over his shoulder and making out the curly-haired girl and her Abercrombie boyfriend just beneath the street lamp at the corner.
“Drop her!” Kisha insisted, releasing the girl. “Let’s get outta here.”
He glanced at the girl’s mystified expression, and wondered if she even knew where she was. Who she was.
But even with her dazed countenance and her smeared mascara she was beautiful. So very beautiful. She was perfect for Colton.
“No,” he snapped, hauling her all the way back up, bearing all of her weight himself. He searched around them, scanning the houses up and down the street, surveying the ones closest to them.
Most had the same vacant appearance. A little too dark. A little too run-down, and far too empty.
But it was the one ahead of them that held the most promise. The one with the For Sale sign sticking out of the dead lawn, and the foreclosure notice taped to its front door.
There was no light at all coming from within, and he guessed that even if someone still lived there, they weren’t home at this very moment.
He dragged the girl—Colton’s girl—through the patchy, brittle grass. “Come on,” he ordered beneath his breath to Kisha, who still looked uncertain, like she might bolt at any moment. “Get up here, Kish, I need you.” At that she moved, suddenly darting toward him. They rounded the back of the house, still dragging the girl, but now Kisha was helping, trying to pull her along by her other arm.
When they reached the back door he kicked it open, and not waiting to see if it was actually someone’s home still, they disappeared inside, closing the broken door as best they could behind them.
CHAPTER 19
VIOLET CLUNG TO JAY’S HAND AS SHE SPRINTED up the street. Her vision had cleared, but only a little.
“You saw them. Tell me you saw them!” she cried, not caring who heard her now. If it really was the killer she’d seen—and the imprint was a dead giveaway—he already knew they were following him.
Jay tried to hold her back, slowing her pace. “But I didn’t see where they went, Vi. Did you?”
Violet shook her head. “It doesn’t matter though.” She glanced up and down the row of houses, and only one of them stood out to her. Only one of them had a medley of colors that erupted all around it. “That’s it,” she said, pointing at the one just ahead of them. “They’re in there.” She dug her phone out of her purse and shoved it at him. “Call Rafe. Tell him where we are. Tell him we found Chelsea.”
Watching as Jay fished out a flyer from the plastic box that hung on the For Sale sign, Violet waited just long enough to hear him reading the address to Rafe on the other end . . .
. . . before she slipped away.
NO REST FOR THE WICKED
THEY MOVED QUICKLY, PULLING THE GIRL AS HER boots banged and clattered along the top of the old floorboards. There were boxes strewn about and maybe a broken chair or two, hard to tell for sure, but it was mostly garbage they had to maneuver around. The house was definitely vacant. Probably only inhabited by rats at this point.
He figured they’d be safe as long as they could just stay quiet.
Besides, there was no way the curly-haired girl and her boyfriend would know they were in here. No way they’d figure out where they were hiding. Eventually, they’d get tired of searching for their friend, and they’d move on to the next place.
Then he and Kisha would duck out again, and head for home.
He dropped the girl in a heap on the floor as he crept toward the front of the house. He was just about to peek out the window, between the boards that covered the broken glass, to try to see out to the street beyond, when he heard it.
The back door.
And the voice.
“Chels.” She was quiet. Uncertain. But far too close for his liking.
“Kish,” he whispered, swinging his arms in wide arcs in the dark as he searched frantically for her. When his fingers closed around her arm, he dragged her up against him, his mouth right at her ear. “Help me get her up those stairs.”
It was hard to see the staircase in this kind of blackness. It was there, though, off to the side of what had once been a banister. But without a handrail, the banister was now just a row of pointed spikes that would more likely impale you than prevent you from falling.
Kisha didn’t argue, she just reached beneath the girl’s arm and heaved her up, using the last of her strength—probably more than she even had left—to help him. To get Colton’s girl someplace safe. Out of the way.
To hide her.
CHAPTER 20
THE SMELL OF STALE URINE HIT VIOLET FIRST—human or animal, she had no way of knowing, but it was strong—and it burned a path all the way to her sinuses. Instinctively her hand shot up and she covered her nose and her mouth, trying not to gag as the urine scent melded with the smells of mildew and old garbage and something else that festered just beneath it all.
Feces, Violet thought. It was probably feces.
“Chels,” she said timidly, hating that she was virtually blind now. For all she knew, the killer was standing directly in front of her.
Ahead of her, she heard voices, low and unintelligible voices. He was talking, but who was talking back? Was it Chelsea?
She took another step and noticed something else, a strange sound, like the trickling of water. But not a faucet, not steady and driven by man-made devices.
No, this sounded more like a stream. Like the soft cascading waters of a mountain stream.
Right here, in this crumbling old house.
Violet knew what it was. It was another imprint, of course.
He was a violent killer, and it made sense that he carried more than one.
She tried to find the other, the one she knew from the lake house—the old coffee grounds—but she couldn’t amid all the tangible smells that competed for her senses.
She heard more noises. Banging and thumping. They were moving away from her, making her feel braver so she stepped again, her hands out in front of her to keep from walking into walls. “Chelsea!” she called again, this time louder, bolder.
As the sounds moved farther, so did Violet. She knew they were upstairs now, she could hear them above her, but she had no idea where the stairs were. She fumbled around, feeling her way along walls, and straining to see through the narrow openings created between the imprints. But those glimpses were too brief, not giving her eyes enough time to adjust to the blackness.
Her fingers brushed over something sharp, a spike that seemed to be sticking up from the floor itself. Beside it, there was another one, equally jagged. She struggled to make sense of them in her mind as she took another step.
But her foot caught on something and she careened forward, barely having enough time to process the fact that she was falling right toward one of those stakes.
“Jesus, Vi,” Jay cursed as he caught her from behind. “What the hell are you doing? That thing almost impaled you.”
“They’re upstairs,” she answered, ignoring his lecture.
His voice dropped. “And you just thought you’d sneak up there while I wasn’t looking? Can you even see, Violet?” She felt a whoosh of air under her nose and she knew he was waving his hand in front of her face.
“Stop that!” she insisted, brushing his hand away, but as her hand passed through the air, she knew she’d missed, that her timing had been off.
His words were challenging now. “Violet, this is a bad idea. We can’t just storm this guy. What if he’s armed? We already know he’s dangerous.”
She reached for his hands, and finding them, implored him. “That’s right, Jay,” she whispered. “He’s dangerous. And he’s up there with Chelsea. We can’t just leave her there, can we? Who knows what he’s doing to her. What if he is armed? Maybe we can stop him before he . . .” She didn’t finish, she couldn’t. Jay hadn�
�t seen what she had.
The pause was short, much shorter than she’d expected. “You’re right. We can’t just leave her. You wait here, I’m doing this alone.”
It didn’t matter what he said, though. Because what she was really listening to was where his feet hit the stairs.
She followed almost immediately, never really intending to stay behind. He could be pissed at her later. For now, she had a friend to save.
“You never listen,” Jay grumbled quietly, but he didn’t stop, and she could sense the determination coming off him in every step he took. He was less cautious now, less worried about each creak beneath their feet.
Suddenly it seemed he wanted to find Chelsea as badly as she did.
He kept Violet behind him, which was good, because she needed to use him as her guide. Him and the imprints only she could sense.
The water sound grew clearer, stronger. It drew her as surely as the flashing kaleidoscope that blocked her view.
But as they reached the top of the stairs, Violet knew something was wrong.
Terribly, terribly wrong.
The imprints split there. Right there at the landing.
One imprint—the colors—pulling her one way. The rushing water pulling her the other.
She heard Jay then, above the babbling sound of water. “Which way?”
Vacillating, she turned her head in each direction, trying to make sense of it all.
How could there be two imprints, leading her in two different directions?
“I—I don’t know.” Her words hit the air at the same time they both heard it. The moan. Low and muffled and almost imperceptible, but there all the same.
“This way,” Jay said, dragging Violet along. Dragging her toward the sound of the stream.
SILENCE IS GOLDEN
THEY WERE PRACTICALLY RIGHT OUTSIDE THE door now. Right on top of him.
He glanced around, trying to figure a way out, but he was trapped. If only she’d be quiet. If only she’d lie there and be still.
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