The Body Finder

by Kimberly Derting

  But she also decided that this was as good a time as any for her to say something she’d been meaning to tell him for a while now…something that she hadn’t been able to bring herself to say before.

  “Hey,” she said seriously, “since we’re apologizing tonight, I want to say something too.”

  He flopped down on the bed, lying right beside her. She waited for the sense of calm that his nearness usually brought to her, but it never came. She wasn’t exactly sure what she was so nervous about, but somehow lying here, with his face only a breath away from hers, she was more uncomfortable than ever, and her uneasiness, and quite possibly the heat of his body against hers, made her hesitate.

  Once again, Jay seemed to be reading her mind, and Violet wondered if she were really that transparent. She hoped he couldn’t read everything that was going on up there.

  “Go ahead, Vi. You can say anything to me.” His lazy half-smile was mesmerizing, and she found herself staring at his lips for too long. “Anything,” he reassured her gently, and she wondered what those lips would feel like against her own.

  It was now or never, she thought wryly, and she blinked to break his mind-numbing spell over her. “I…I’m really sorry…about that day at the lake. I didn’t mean to make you see that….” Now that she was in the middle of it, the words seemed even harder to find, and she wasn’t sure just how to say what she was trying to say. Inside her head she always sounded so confident and sure of herself, but somehow when the words reached her lips they fell out in a stammering mess. “…I shouldn’t have gone there…especially since I was pretty sure there was…you know, something there.”

  Jay shook his head and propped himself on his elbow so that he was looking down at her. “You don’t have to apologize for that. I know that what you find is out of your control.” He reached out and brushed a stray piece of hair out of Violet’s face. His words were as gentle and thoughtfully sincere as his touch. “Besides, if you’d have told me ahead of time that you were sensing something there, I would have gone with you anyway. It’s not your fault it happened to be a girl and not some animal in there.

  “I just don’t want you to shut me out when you’re feeling something. We’ve been friends for too long, Violet. I want you to tell me if you’re ever sensing anything strange.”

  His hand fell away from her face, and Violet had to fight the urge to shudder in the wake of the electric charge she felt from his touch. Where his fingertips had brushed against her flushed cheeks they were still tingling. She decided to keep that strange sensation to herself.

  “I know it’s not my fault, but I should have at least warned you.” She wanted him to understand how badly she felt about making him a witness to something he never should have seen. “Anyway,” she continued, “I’m sorry for that.”

  “I’m pretty sure you said that already,” he responded, using her earlier words against her.

  She smiled, desperately wishing he’d touch her again. She hoped he couldn’t see that in her face too. “I just don’t want anything bad between us,” she offered by way of an explanation.

  “I know.” He reached out, capturing her hand in his. He laced his fingers casually through hers.

  Violet leaned against him and the calm finally came, settling over her peacefully.

  And then he kissed her. Gently. Softly. Not on the lips, as she’d imagined so many times before, but on her forehead.

  The gesture was sweet and a little possessive.

  Violet hoped, maybe, it was a start.

  ADRENALINE

  EACH HUNT WAS AS UNIQUE AS THE GIRL HERSELF.

  It was better if no two girls were extracted in exactly the same way. Or from the same area.

  But that had become increasingly difficult, as absences from his job became more and more conspicuous. So he’d been forced to hunt closer to home recently, and that meant taking more precautions than he had in the past. It meant being even more diligent. Meticulous.

  Not that he’d been sloppy before. He was never sloppy; it went against everything he believed in.

  He ran his finger along the razor-smooth edge of his KA-BAR tactical knife. He knew he wouldn’t have to use it; the terrifying effect of the weapon in the presence of the girls was enough to cause total submission. Just stroking the steel blade stimulated him in ways no woman ever had.

  He stuffed the military-grade knife in his “briefcase,” a nondescript duffel bag he carried whenever he went out on a hunt, next to the duct tape and the zip ties.

  He didn’t mind the extra safety measures he had to take. In fact, for some reason it added to the excitement of it all, the increased risk of searching out girls who lived in such close proximity to where he lived and worked. It was like pissing in his own backyard. Sick and wrong. And he liked it.

  He checked himself in the mirror one last time before heading out the door.

  The hunt was on.

  By a quarter past twelve, he was in a shitty mood.

  Nothing had gone well. He hadn’t spotted even one promising prospect out on the streets after dark.

  He’d been afraid this might happen. Not so much that he wouldn’t find a girl, but that his choices would be limited, his options less attractive. Literally. He preferred the pretty ones.

  He knew that word of the disappearances had spread, and families were watching their daughters a little more closely. But there were exceptions to every rule. The stupid and weak always separated from the herd eventually.

  All of the girls he’d seen tonight had either been traveling in groups or weren’t worth his effort.

  He was about to call it a night when he spotted her. Crossing the dark street. Alone. And pretty.

  He didn’t waste any time.

  “You need a ride?” he asked through his open window, his car slowing to match her pace.

  “It’s okay,” she answered, glancing up just long enough to acknowledge him. “I just live down the street.”

  “I don’t mind at all. In fact, I’d feel better if you let me drive you.”

  She slowed down a little but didn’t stop. He knew she was wavering, but not enough, so he added, “With everything that’s going on lately…you know, with the girls that have been found…” He left the sentence hanging, hoping to strike some fear in this one, but he must have misjudged her.

  There was fear, all right, but not the kind he’d hoped for. He saw the alarm flash across her face, and he couldn’t help but wonder what she recognized in him that the others hadn’t.

  Her pace quickened, and he could see her fumbling nervously for something in her pocket. He saw what it was the second she had it free. Her cell phone.

  She wanted to call for help.

  He couldn’t let her, but he’d have to act fast if he planned to stop her.

  He slammed on his brakes and shoved the transmission into park. The girl started running before he was even out of his car.

  The little bitch was fast!

  He raced after her, his heavy boots falling loudly against the pavement. The advantage she’d gained in her head start was quickly lost to his superior agility.

  Plus, it was always easier to be the predator than the prey. Prey panicked.

  He hit her from behind, and he heard her squeal as the air was knocked from her lungs beneath his weight when he crushed her to the ground. The cell phone skittered across the street.

  His hand shot out, before she could find her breath again, covering her mouth. It was bad enough she’d run; he didn’t need her screaming too.

  He rolled swiftly onto his back, taking her with him so that she was lying on top of his chest as he surveyed the area for possible witnesses. This had the potential for true disaster; this could be the mistake he’d avoided making for so long.

  But they were still alone. Just the two of them.

  She fought him, thrashing violently against his grip, even though he knew she was aware of his strength as he restrained her. She was like a rag doll flopping helplessly
in his arms. He tightened his grip on her anyway, struggling against an instinct to smother her with his hand.

  In one rapid motion, he jumped to his feet, hauling her up with him. His car was still running, and was far too easy to spot with its headlights filling the darkened street.

  He was angry with the girl. She shouldn’t have run. She wasn’t supposed to do that; they were never supposed to do that.

  She had ruined the hunt for him…ruined the mood.

  He reached inside the open car door and released the trunk. He didn’t take care with this one—this girl—she didn’t deserve his concern or his gentle reassurances.

  When she saw where he was taking her, she kicked at him with her legs. He slammed her against the hard edge of the trunk’s opening, letting her head smack against the metal exterior of the car before throwing her inside. In the split second that her mouth was uncovered she tried to scream for help, but his fist found her jaw before the sound could gain any momentum. It came out in an injured whimper instead.

  Some of his mood was restored.

  He worked quickly, grabbing his tool bag, and ripping a piece of duct tape from the roll. She thrashed sideways, away from the silver adhesive, but he tangled his fingers into her hair and jerked her back, sealing her mouth shut once and for all.

  The zip ties made her hands and feet useless, forcing her to be the kind of docile victim he preferred. He watched as he saw some of the fire fading from her eyes. She stared back at him pleadingly.

  He felt much better.

  In a moment of compassion, he tried to stroke her face comfortingly, but the instant he touched her, the panic returned, and she struggled all over again, straining against the plastic strips that bound her wrists and ankles.

  Bitch, he silently cursed her. Stupid little bitch!

  He slammed the trunk hard, glad to be done with her. He was tired of looking at her. He didn’t care if she was afraid or if she suffered.

  He knew one thing for certain…the next time he saw her, she wouldn’t be fighting.

  CHAPTER 9

  “OOH, I LIKE THOSE ONES,” CLAIRE EVERTON gushed as Violet lifted the hems of her jeans to show off another pair of shoes.

  Chelsea rolled her eyes, her lush black lashes giving the gesture dramatic effect. “Claire, you’ve liked every single pair you’ve seen so far. Show me the ones you don’t like.”

  Claire’s shoulder slumped as she pouted. “All I said was I liked them. I didn’t say she should get them.”

  Chelsea shot Violet a frustrated look before turning back to Claire to take pity on the girl’s fragile ego. It seemed like a near-monumental act for Chelsea, who rarely checked what she said before saying it aloud.

  For the most part, it was one of the things Violet liked about Chelsea, but sometimes, like now for example, Chelsea had to do a little damage control.

  “I know, Claire-bear,” Chelsea cooed in a patronizing baby-talk voice. “I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

  Claire didn’t seem to feel patronized at all and cheered up immediately. She turned away and plucked up another pair of shoes and gazed at them longingly, and they heard her saying, “I like these too…” as she wandered deeper into the Nordstrom shoe department.

  Chelsea glanced back to Violet and wrinkled her nose as she looked at the shoes Violet had on. “I don’t like them,” she stated in her matter-of-fact tone, all traces of the baby talk long gone.

  Violet shook her head. “Me neither.”

  The shopping trip had been meant to distract Violet from thinking about the recently discovered dead bodies. There was something about the two dead girls, something besides concerns over her own safety, that kept her feeling on edge.

  She assumed that was natural considering that she’d been responsible for finding the girl in the lake. But she was struggling to concentrate on even the simplest of tasks, even one as easy as shopping.

  Jules appeared then, practically from out of nowhere, carrying an armload of shoe boxes. “Here,” she insisted, handing Violet two boxes. “I found you the perfect pair. I wasn’t sure how the sizes ran, so I got you a seven and a seven and half.” Then she turned to Chelsea. “These are for you.” One box. Apparently she was pretty certain about the size. “Hey, A-D-D,” she called out to Claire, “come over and try these on.” She set two identical-looking boxes on a chair that she’d obviously designated for Claire.

  And then she sat down in an empty seat and waited impatiently.

  “What about you? Aren’t you going to pick out a pair for yourself?” Chelsea asked Jules.

  “I’m done. In the time you guys wasted looking for the ‘perfect’ shoe, I found mine and all of yours. I even paid already…. They’re holding them up at the counter for me.” She leaned forward in her chair, balancing her elbows on her knees, which were spread apart, making her look extremely out of place in the upscale ladies’ shoe department.

  There wasn’t a feminine bone in Jules Oquist’s body, although you wouldn’t necessarily know it from her outward appearance. It wasn’t until she moved, or spoke, or pretty much even breathed, that you couldn’t help but notice what a tomboy the athletic girl really was. Outwardly, however, she was kind of pretty. But unlike Chelsea or the other girls, Jules didn’t try to be. Hers was an understated prettiness that didn’t need makeup or hair dryers. She had great coloring, soft honey-colored hair, and generously full lips. But that was where any comparisons to the female gender ended. This extended shopping trip wasn’t exactly her cup of tea.

  Chelsea opened her box and her eyes widened in surprise. “Oh my God, they’re exactly what I’ve been looking for,” she breathed. Chelsea plopped down in one of the overstuffed chairs and slid her foot into the delicate silver sandal, looking like Cinderella. And just as in the fairy tale, it fit perfectly. “Thanks, Jules.” Chelsea beamed, thrilled by her friend’s choice.

  Violet opened hers next, curious now to see how Jules had fared for her.

  She hadn’t been exactly ecstatic about going to the Homecoming Dance with Grady, but she had to admit she’d had a blast choosing a dress, and now, finding the right shoes to go with it. The strappy black sandals inside the box were striking. And even though Violet hadn’t thought of wearing sandals, now that she saw them, she knew they would look great with her simple, elegant black dress. She loved the strap that crossed over the front of the ankle and clasped together with a subtle jeweled buckle on the side. The first pair she tried on was exactly her size.

  So far, Jules was two for two.

  Claire was next, and she was having a hard time waiting for her turn. As soon as Violet agreed that she had found her shoes, Claire dug into her box.

  They were all a little surprised by the bold choice…a pair of shiny, red, patent leather, peep-toe pumps.

  “What’s up, Julia?” Chelsea asked, knowing that Jules hated to be called by her given name. “Have you gone all girlie on us?”

  Jules looked offended by the mere suggestion and gave Chelsea a disgusted look. “I just wanted to give you guys a kick in the ass to move things along. Anything wrong with that?”

  “Not at all,” Claire sighed breathlessly, looking at the shoes and not at Jules at all. “These are…they’re…hot,” she finally said, finding the right word.

  They were pretty hot, Violet thought, and they would look amazing with Claire’s shoulder-baring halter dress.

  Three for three was pretty impressive, especially for a girl who professed to hate shopping.

  Jules stood up and stretched gracelessly. “Let’s hurry up and pay before she”—she indicated Claire with a flick of her thumb—“sees something shiny and we lose her again.”

  Violet was fine with the suggestion.

  The mall was crowded for a Friday night, and because of that Violet had noticed at least a couple of sensory inputs that were strangely out of place in the shopping environment. With two girls found dead so recently, she seemed to be acutely aware of everything out of the ordinary lately, as
if she were searching for the echoes, even in the most mundane places.

  She’d recognized one, in particular. It was the odd scent of seawater coming from an older, distinguished-looking gentleman who was shopping with his wife in the shoe department. She only noticed it when he walked right by her, and she doubted that the smell had anything to do with the ocean at all. It was old, probably very old, and she wondered if the man had fought in a war in his lifetime. Or if he’d once been a hunter.

  Either way, she doubted he was the killer.

  After they paid and left the department store, Violet and her friends decided to grab a bite to eat. Chelsea talked them into trying a Thai restaurant just down the street from the mall. Violet didn’t need to be convinced. One thing she wasn’t picky about was food—the more exotic the better. She especially liked anything that wasn’t frozen lasagna or pizza delivery.

  They shared orders of pad Thai, Swimming Angel, and some Vietnamese spring rolls that came with both a sweet garlic and a peanut dipping sauce. The smell of their jasmine-infused rice mingled with the scents of coconut sauces and chili peppers. By the time they were finished, Violet was stuffed and wondered if she’d even fit into her dress anymore.

  On the ride to Chelsea’s house, Claire chattered on and on about the upcoming dance. Violet was busy tuning out the incessant babbling until she heard Chelsea’s voice, and Violet realized that she was talking to her.

  “What?” Violet asked, pretending she just hadn’t heard what Chelsea had said, instead of letting on that she wasn’t listening to any of them at all.

  “I said, is it weird for you that Jay’s taking Lissie Adams to Homecoming?” Chelsea repeated it slowly, as if Violet were a dull-witted child.

  Oh God, not this, Violet thought. This was a subject she’d been hoping to avoid. She suddenly wished she were an ostrich so she could just bury her head in the sand and ignore the question entirely.