Eye For Her: A gripping must-read thriller

by A B Alexander

  “I’m sorry, baby, that I didn’t tell you about this before. I didn’t want to burden you with more. You have enough on your plate. We’ll think of something.” She stroked his forearm, willing back his aura of confidence and tranquility.

  He pulled his arm away. “What else have you been hiding from me?”

  “Nothing . . . I swear.”

  “Nothing makes sense anymore. The evidence they have doesn’t correspond to what you say happened.” He kept his eyes on the road, shaking his head from side to side.

  “They’re saying I shot the girl, hiked eighteen miles in the peak of a wintry storm, and then shot myself. Do you know how insane that sounds? They think I’m delusional, that I made the story up, that I’m the real psycho!” His doubt hurt her, but it was relatable, born out of fear and frustration. She was now the prime suspect of a serious crime.

  “You said that you escaped at nightfall and that it was close to daybreak when you got shot. It’s possible to cover twenty miles overnight,” he said, without averting his eyes from the winding road.

  “Robert, if you think I did this, turn the car around right now and bring me into the station. I’m a danger to you, and Jonah, and anybody else, for that matter.” She tapped her forehead against the icy window, weeping the bitter tears of abandonment and despair. If Robert didn’t believe her, she couldn’t trust anybody, including herself.

  The car slowed, coming to a complete stop on a leafy shoulder of the road. He switched off the ignition and embraced her. “You’re not crazy or a monster. The police have got it wrong one way or another. I didn’t mean to doubt you, I’m sorry. I was overwhelmed.”

  She raised her chin and cupped the back of her head in her hands. His approval meant everything. In her darkest moments, when she doubted her sanity, her gut always told her to trust herself. But she was losing faith. Molina had broken her resilience like shattered glass, causing her to doubt everything she considered factual. However, in a few words, Robert restored her sense of worth. She kissed him with renewed fervor and devotion. He had saved her life.

  CHAPTER 20

  Five, six, seven . . . push, damn it!

  Her arms burned and shook from exertion, her heaving chest sucking in air. She relished the pain as it meant progress.

  Eight, nine . . . one more, come on!

  Abbie lowered herself in one solid piece, her chest about an inch or two off the ground. Her elbows bent out to the side, engaging her abdominal and leg muscles. She maintained her head in a straight line with her spine, forcing herself back up to the plank position, supporting her weight on the balls of her feet and heels of her hands.

  Ten!

  She collapsed onto the exercise mat, sweat dripping off her torso. The excruciating physical exercise that she had put in over the last three months paid dividends. Her mind and body operating in tandem, she felt better in every way. The nightmares became infrequent, and her body weight climbed fast. Soon, she would be back to her former self, at least from a physical perspective. Her viewpoint had altered forever. She reached for a protein shake on the marble kitchen counter and smiled, not out of joy, but from gratitude. She hadn’t heard from Molina since the interrogation, and there was no sign of the beast. Although the lack of news left her in limbo, it lulled her back into a sense of security and routine.

  Maybe everything will be okay.

  She climbed the wooden stairs, heading for the shower in the master bedroom. The progress was noticeable. Only a few weeks back, she would have to hold onto the railings and use her upper body to propel herself forward. She used to dread every step; it was a physical and emotional boot camp. Now she climbed two stairs at a time, ending her workout on a high. She entered the white Carrara-marble bathroom and removed her sports tights and T-shirt. She could bear to look at herself in the mirror. Her rib cage was no longer protruding, bone and muscle density were building. She entered the rain shower that had a floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the endless pine trees. It was another new feature of Robert’s redesign that fused urban living with nature. She twisted the shiny faucet and a stream of icy water rushed through her hair and onto her shoulders. She jumped away from the stream, puffing her cheeks, shivering, until the water warmed up. A dense mist formed around her body, and she allowed the flow to caress her aching limbs. She ran her fingers through her sleek hair and appreciated the view, imagining herself in a hot rainstorm in the heart of the forest. She tilted her face toward the waterfall, the sweltering spray massaging her eyes and cheekbones. With a rational mind, her body savored the moment, losing track of time. It was like getting into a warm bed on a cold wintry night—thoughts became secondary. The skin on her hands wrinkled, and she coerced herself to step back from the showerhead. She rubbed her eyes and glanced at the foggy shower door, the water droplets sliding along the vapor-covered glass. Her palm shot to her mouth, in between the drops, she could discern a silhouette roaming the bathroom. She rubbed her eyes again, this time with both hands—there was someone in the bathroom, the movement was unmistakable.

  It’s him! Oh, God, please no.

  She stepped back toward the external glass overlooking the pine trees. There was nowhere to run or hide. Her body shook to the brink of a seizure, the surge of fear and adrenaline overloading her senses. She couldn’t hear him, the rush of the water drowning out any sounds. But she remained fixated on his silhouette as he made his way around the bathroom until he stopped in front of the glass. In less than a second, he would be upon her.

  This can’t be happening. Do something!

  She pressed the pin above the faucet, and the shower hose spurted to life, diverting the powerful spray of the rain showerhead. Twisting the faucet to maximum heat, she gripped the hose with both trembling hands and held it perpendicular to her body, like a gun. She could see his arm reaching for the handle. The glass door flung open . . .

  “Hey . . .”

  She raised the shower hose toward his face with a piercing scream.

  “OUCH!” He reeled backward, his Oxfords skating on the wet marble until he fell square on his shoulders.

  “Oh, my God. What have I done?” Abbie screamed.

  Robert lay on his back with his eyes closed, groaning, his arms sprawled at his sides.

  She dashed toward him, her feet sliding on the surface, and dropped to her knees. Her wet, naked body shivered from the cold and the shock. She raised his head into her lap. “Are you okay?”

  He opened his eyes and burst into a fit of laughter. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. My back hurts, and my face is stinging from the boiling water. But, my God, you’re a feisty one! I wanted to surprise you.”

  “I didn’t think you’d be home early from work. I thought it was him. I’m sorry if I hurt you.” A hint of laughter escaped her lips as she could see the funny side of it. She sniffled, wiping the tears from her eyes. She rested her trembling hands on his chest, his physique steadying her shakes.

  He pulled her on top of him into a straddle position and kissed her with igniting passion, bursting with primal desire. His hands moved along her lower back toward her buttocks, teasing her.

  For a brief second, she hesitated. They hadn’t been intimate since her captivity, which seemed like a lifetime ago. She needed more time to heal her wounds and focus on their relationship. This was also the first time he had seen her naked since her recovery. Although she looked and felt stronger, she was still a long way from feeling comfortable in her skin.

  “I can’t do this,” she said and drew herself away from his lips.

  “It’ll be okay, let’s try at least.” A lustful fire burned in his eyes. He pulled her closer, this time with added force, sliding his hand between her thighs.

  She gripped his wrist and wrestled herself away from his hold. “No, I can’t!” she said, frightened by his chilling glare.

  “I’m sorry, baby. I got carried away. I just miss bein
g with you so much.” In an instant, his hardened eyes once again gleamed with salvation.

  She stood up and wrapped a white cotton towel around herself. “Jonah will be home soon from school. I’ll get dressed.” She dashed into the bedroom, her skin crawling. Robert was always understanding, and it was unlike him to be forceful with her during intimacy. She slumped onto the edge of the bed and covered her face with her palms, bawling, her upper body shuddering. She could understand his frustration, but she wasn’t ready to be the wife he needed. The old Abigail Blake was history. Only time would tell if their relationship could turn back the clock. This wasn’t the only reason for her despair. In the bathroom, she felt something she’d never thought was possible with Robert: fear. He was her savior, maintaining her sanity and innocence through countless trials. But for that split second, she feared him.

  The door to the bedroom clicked open. She kept her face buried in her hands, salty tears and mucus seeping into her mouth. The footsteps on the hardwood were slow and measured.

  “I think we should go away for the weekend to the cabin.” He stood above her, patting her head with smooth strokes. “It’s where we spent some of our most beautiful times together.”

  Abbie’s chin vibrated, the cords on her neck standing out. The cabin contained memories of many romantic nights, but it’s also where she was kidnapped, and she hadn’t pieced together her last night.

  “I haven’t changed a thing. It’s still as you remember it. It’ll be good for us,” he said.

  “I . . .” Abbie struggled to find the words. On the one hand, he was right. From a psychological perspective, the cabin was symbolic of their love. It was their getaway and haven. It was their bond to commit time for each within their busy schedules. But it also meant she would have to confront her fears. Memories of that last night would surface, and she wasn’t ready to face that sort of agony.

  “I . . . it’s not you. I need time, that’s all. I need to feel like myself again before I can focus on us.”

  Robert wrapped his arms around her. “You have all the time in the world.”

  CHAPTER 21

  Molina chewed gum like a baseball player chewing tobacco before stepping up to the plate, her jaw pulsating—a clear sign of intent. She twisted the blue ballpoint pen between her index finger and thumb in a quick circular motion.

  Cunningham paced behind her like a caged animal, a slick film of sweat forming on his baldness.

  Abbie fidgeted in the cold metal chair. Something big was going on. Being back in the interrogation room was hard enough, but coming alone was a different ball game. Robert had insisted on not speaking to the agents again without a lawyer present. She had complied with Molina’s request to come alone, and in hindsight, she regretted it already. In the heart of the lion’s den, the truth is irrelevant. Either way, if they were going to arrest her, she assumed they needed clear evidence. In that case, she preferred to face the music alone and avoid the shenanigans. If she were this sicko they had made her out to be, then she would accept her fate.

  “Mrs. Blake, thank you for coming in alone,” Molina said. Her tone more solemn than aggressive—a sharp contrast to their previous encounter.

  “Yeah, sure . . . how can I help?”

  “There’ve been two more girls,” Molina said, squinting her hardened eyes devoid of sympathy. She had the uncanny ability to neutralize emotion in the most nerve-shredding moments.

  “That’s horrific. I can’t believe it. You don’t think I did this, do you?”

  Molina lowered the pen onto the table with a hollow clang. She removed the greenish gum from her mouth and flicked it into the bin nearby. “I’ll be honest, I don’t know what to think anymore. But I need some answers.” She glanced over her shoulder at Cunningham and waved him to sit down.

  He slumped into the metal chair, resting his elbows on the table, his biceps bulging through his gray cotton shirt.

  “These were young girls, all murdered within the last few weeks since you were home,” Cunningham said. He stared at Abigail with disdain. “Would you like to see the photos?”

  “I swear to God I had nothing to do with this!” Abbie yelled, clenching interwoven fingers. Over the last few weeks, she had been lucid. Her memories from the final days before her disappearance were still fragmented, but her mind was clear. These crimes didn’t relate to her, and she doubted there was any link to her case. Both agents seemed under intense pressure to resolve these murders, but she would be nobody’s scapegoat.

  Molina placed a hand on Cunningham’s tense shoulder, ordering him to back off.

  “Why don’t you cut the good cop, bad cop BS and let me know what you want from me.” She would not be a pushover like in their previous meeting. Her mental prowess was back, and she was stronger.

  Molina faced Cunningham, swaying her head toward the exit. Without question, he stood up and headed for the door. He slammed it shut behind him, which jolted Abbie.

  “Lower your jeans and turn around,” Molina ordered.

  “What? Why?”

  “Just do it!” Molina barked, smashing her palm onto the table.

  Abbie dragged herself to her feet, intimidated by Molina’s vicious tenacity. She scolded herself for not listening to Robert. This was turning into a nightmare. She unbuttoned her skinny jeans and lowered them to her buckling knees.

  “Turn around.”

  “Why? What do you want from me?” Abbie recoiled, dazed. If this weren’t a police station, she would have screamed for help. These were the people supposed to protect and serve, not abuse and accuse.

  “I’ll not touch you. Do as you’re told.”

  Abbie twisted around toward the dark green wall.

  “Spread your legs and bend down toward your toes. Keep your knees straight.”

  Abbie shivered, the way horses shake off flies. She cursed herself under her breath, angry at her blind stupidity for trusting Molina. She winced and bent down with her arms outstretched toward the ground.

  “Don’t move!”

  She could hear Molina shifting positions in the background.

  CLICK. CLICK. CLICK.

  Abbie sprung upright and flipped around to find Molina hunkering down below her waist with a phone in her hand.

  “Did you just take a photograph of my ass on your cell phone? Is that even legal? I’m getting the hell out of here. It was a bad idea to come here in the first place.” Fuming, she brushed past Molina and headed for the door, struggling to pull up her jeans in her haste.

  “Mrs. Blake, you’ll want to see this. Sit down.”

  Abbie stopped by the doorway and faced Molina, her jeans half buttoned. “Do you even realize the humiliation that you just put me through?”

  Molina raised her palms in the air, but her expression remained stone-faced. “Please sit down. Every second that goes by could mean more lives. There’s a serial killer out there, and we’re not sure when he’ll strike next.”

  Abbie backed away from the door, the words “serial killer” humming in her ears like deep bass. A bout of dizziness and nausea struck her like a blindsided slap. She stumbled into the metal chair and drooped her forehead on the table, her elbows on her knees, hyperventilating.

  “Are you okay? Would you like a glass of water?”

  “I’m fine.” Her stomach churned.

  Molina pulled out a portable two-way radio. “Cunningham, come back and bring with you a glass of cold water for Mrs. Blake.”

  “You got it, boss.”

  Two minutes later, Cunningham marched into the room with a tumbler. He planted the glass on the table and flopped into his seat.

  Abbie raised her head from the cold metallic surface. The spinning hadn’t subsided. She took a few sips, steadying her gaze on the agents, who whispered to each other. Molina’s mouth was millimeters from Cunningham’s ear.

  “Is ther
e anything I should know about?” Abbie asked.

  The agents stopped their heated chatter and faced her.

  “Do you have any tattoos on your body?” Cunningham asked, blurting out the question on instinct.

  “No, I don’t have any tattoos.” Abbie stared at her shoes.

  “Are you sure?” he asked again, shaking his fist.

  Without saying a word, Molina slid her cell phone across the table. It spun on the stainless-steel surface like a figure skater routine on an ice rink.

  When it halted, the image of Abbie’s buttocks stared back at her. She picked up the phone, dumbfounded. On her inner thigh, below her left butt cheek, was a tattoo. With her index finger and thumb, she enlarged the image. The tattoo was of a female’s eye with a teardrop lurking off the sclera. It was as if she was analyzing a cadaver, someone else’s body that had fallen prey. The phone slipped from her clammy palm, bouncing off the table. “What the hell is that?”

  Molina reached for her cell and slipped it into her pocket. “Mrs. Blake, I’ll explain to you the situation, but I’m requesting you to stay calm. We’re on your side.”

  “Tell me what’s going on!” Abbie lashed out. In her new reality, there were no good guys.

  “Beth Wilson had the same tattoo.” Molina leaned back and folded her arms. Her eyes gleamed with zeal and purpose. She paused, only for a second, letting the full weight of her words sink in. “The two girls recently murdered also had the same tattoo.”

  “I had nothing to do with these murders. I only met Beth, as I told you before.” Abbie’s eyes darted, foreboding swelling in her gut.

  “We’ve had your home under surveillance over the last few weeks. We know that you weren’t involved.”

  Cunningham interjected, “This was for your safety, of course.”

  Molina continued, “Beth, the two girls, and you were all found with high levels of Scopolamine in your system. That explains why you suffered significant memory loss. You also had dangerously high levels of GHB, which caused you to lapse into a coma. Despite the circumstances, we’re hoping you could shed some light on the bodily markings.”