by Alexa Grace
"What's that?" asked Jennifer.
"I have to hold my favorite niece."
Grinning, Blake said, "She's your only niece." With Jennifer's help, he pulled Mylee out of the carrier and handed her to his sister. Cooing and waving her arms, the baby smiled up at Carly.
Carly held her close, inhaling her sweet baby scent and kissing the top of her head. "Hi, Mylee. Do you remember your Aunt Carly?" In response, the baby squealed and grabbed at Carly's earring.
"That means she remembers you," said Shawn in a matter-of-fact tone.
At the restaurant, Mollie found the group a round table near the front window. Shawn insisted on sitting on the left side of Carly and Blake placed Mylee in a high chair on her right. Mollie then gave each adult a menu, and took their drink orders. A short time later, a young, pretty girl returned with their drinks.
"Hi, my name is Hailey, and I'll be your server today."
Carly looked at the young girl curiously. Hailey looked to be around fourteen years old, with rich, glowing auburn hair with a rebellious lock of purple near her face. Her eyes were a brilliant blue, and a perpetual smile revealed a line of silver braces. Carly asked, "Your last name wouldn't be Adams, would it?”
Hailey giggled and answered, "Yes. Mollie is my mom. Who else would make her only daughter work at her cafe during spring break?"
"Hi, Hailey, I'm Carly Stone. Glad to meet you."
"Hi. Your black hair rocks. It's so long and shiny. I wanted to do my hair the exact same color, but my mom wouldn't let me."
"Thanks, Hailey." Carly said. "I don't blame your mom, though. Your hair is a beautiful color. Maybe I should get a purple streak like yours," Carly teased.
Hailey's smile widened in approval. "That would look great. I'll be back after you've had some time to look at your menus."
As Blake and Jennifer studied their menus, Carly glanced at the little boy sitting next to her. In January, when Carly met Shawn for the first time, he was one of the skinniest little kids she'd ever seen. He'd just emerged from a living nightmare when both his abusive parents died. After searching for him everywhere in a blizzard, Blake found him hiding in his friend's attic. The little boy was the Stone family's Christmas miracle and soon became a permanent member of the family.
Shawn had gained weight and filled out, looking the picture of health with rosy cheeks, a sprinkling of freckles across his nose, and the sweetest smile she'd ever seen.
She rubbed the top of his head. "You look like you've grown since last I saw you, Shawn."
"Yes, Aunt Carly. I've grown one inch. Dad measures me once a month and marks it on the wall next to the fridge."
The baby squealed and pounded her tiny hands on the tray of the high chair. Pulling off his backpack, Shawn set it on the table and unzipped it. He pulled out a small book called Pat the Bunny and a pink rattle and handed them to Carly. "Would you please give these to Mylee? I think she is getting bored."
Grinning, Carly handed the items to Mylee who wrapped her chubby fingers around them and giggled. She turned to Shawn. "It looks like you have the four-one-one on your baby sister."
"That's for sure," said Jennifer with a smile. "Shawn has nominated himself Mylee's interpreter until she can talk for herself. It's uncanny sometimes how he knows exactly what she's trying to communicate."
"He also knows her 'reading' habits," Blake added. "The other day at the library, he had twice the number of books he normally checks out. Turns out half were for Mylee."
"She likes Dr. Seuss, too. Her favorite book is Go Car Go. Mom or Dad reads a book to us every night before bed. Someday I will read out loud, too," exclaimed Shawn.
Carly smiled at Shawn and glanced at Blake. She'd never seen her brother happier and was thrilled for him. The thought occurred to her that maybe she should move closer to them so she could be active in the kids' lives as they grew up.
Hailey returned for their food orders. Blake, Jennifer, and Carly decided on the lunch special of breaded tenderloin sandwiches with tossed salad. Shawn ordered a peanut butter and strawberry jelly sandwich with carrot slices. He announced his little sister would have some baby cereal mixed with formula.
Once Hailey left with their orders, Carly asked, "How is the house hunting going? Last time we talked, you said you were looking for a bigger house."
"We've decided to build on," shared Jennifer, as she picked up the rattle Mylee dropped.
A sparkle was in Blake's eyes when he added, "I've always loved Jennifer's Craftsman style house and it's been in the Brennan family for years ..."
"Our house," Jennifer insisted.
"Our house," Blake agreed. "We found ourselves comparing every house we saw to it, so we decided to add a family room, bathroom, and another bedroom."
"That sounds great," Carly said. "I love your house, too. And the location is perfect. It's close to the elementary school and your parents’ home. Speaking of your parents, how are Megan and Tim?"
Jennifer gave Mylee a spoonful of cereal and said, "Dad's still doing the sheriff thing. Mom is fixing up rooms for Shawn and Mylee when they visit. They said to tell you hello."
"What about you, Carly," asked Blake. "Are you still dead-set on leaving the Bureau?"
"Yes. I don't miss the bureaucracy, and I like being my own boss. The consultant jobs are coming in on a regular basis, so money's not an issue. I enjoy being able to help the smaller sheriff operations."
"Tim told me that Sheriff Chase really needs your help. Selfishly, I'm glad you took the job so we can see more of you, at least while you're here."
"How long are you staying?" asked Jennifer, as she mixed more cereal with formula in a small bowl for Mylee.
"It could be a month or six months. It depends on how the case progresses. I'm staying in a cottage on the Sheriff's property. I'd love it if you and the kids could spend the weekend sometime while I am here."
Jennifer's eyes danced as she smiled at Blake, then Carly. "That sounds like a fun getaway!"
"What about you, Jennifer? Do you plan to go back to work?" Carly wanted to know.
"Actually, I am working part-time now at home. I'm doing computer work for my cousin, Frankie Hansen's private investigation business. She's gotten a flood of work from several insurance companies and needs the help."
"That is so great you can work at home with the kids," said Carly. "By the way, I have some news."
"Oh, no," said Blake. "Every time you say that, the so-called news concerns Mom and Dad. What now?"
"You're not going to believe this, but Mom and Dad are dating."
"No way!"
"Way. I think they both got lonely over the holidays. They've been dating since January."
A group of reporters and cameramen from the local media outlets talked loudly in the reception area, interrupting their conversation.
"The press conference must be over," Carly surmised. She wondered how Brody fared with their questions, and if he had been able to calm the county residents.
<><><>
Hearing him before seeing him, Alison crouched in the far end of her crate, pulling the quilt around herself to hide her nakedness. He was coming for her, just as Jasmine said he would, and the thought tore at her insides. Panic like she'd never known welled in her throat.
In the next cage, she heard Jasmine crying softly. The man, again wearing the black ski mask, appeared next to Alison's crate, staring at her as he rubbed his obvious erection. She felt impaled by his steady gaze.
Disappearing behind the sheets in the corner of the room, he turned on a bright light that revealed his shadow as he moved the tripod, on which he fastened a camera that he spent a few minutes adjusting to his satisfaction.
Bile rushed to Alison's throat, and she swallowed hard. She may have been a virgin, but she knew what he was going to do to her. Even if Jasmine had not told her the night before, she knew.
Why was he filming her rape? So he could watch it later? Humiliation washed over her in a nauseating wave.
There ha
d to be a way to escape. There had to be a way to end this nightmare, and go home. Her mother must have reported her missing. Where were the police?
The man unlocked the padlock and reached for her. No longer restrained by duct tape, Alison huddled in a corner, kicking and scratching at him, fighting him as he dragged her out of the crate by her ankles.
"You bitch!" He roared as her nails slashed across his jaw. "You'll pay for that."
He slapped Alison across the face so hard she fell back and thought her jaw was broken, the metal braces on her teeth ripping through her lips. Blood gushed down her chin and neck. She hurt so much she could scarcely breathe, but she wouldn't let the pain prevent her from fighting back. Alison lunged at him, sinking her teeth into his leg, and he howled in agony. Clamping down hard, tasting blood and flesh, she refused to let go as he pummeled her with his fists until she loosened her hold. Freeing himself, he kicked her savagely in the side and dragged her behind the sheets. Pulling out handcuffs from his back jeans pocket, he secured her wrists then her ankles to heavy metal eyelets that had been drilled into the floor. Wet blood streamed from her mouth, soaking her hair, choking her when she tried to scream.
He loomed over Alison, tall, dark, and deadly as she struggled against the restraints. Her heart froze as she watched him unzip his pants, and then lowered himself over her. She screamed and kept screaming until darkness filled her eyes and she lost consciousness.
<><><>
By two o'clock, Carly had said her good-byes to her family and was in the passenger seat of Brody's SUV, headed toward Indianapolis to interview the family of the missing girl, Alison Brown.
Brody had taken off his suit jacket and hung it in the back. With the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up and his tie undone, he drove in silence, seemingly lost in his thoughts.
"You're awfully quiet, Sheriff," she remarked. "Are you going to tell me what happened or not?"
Brody glanced at her briefly before turning his attention back on the road. "It went exactly as I expected, reporters firing questions at me, hungry for some shocking, gory detail to boost their ratings. I told them as little as possible and hope that holds them off for a while."
"Were you able to say anything to calm down your residents?"
"I just told them how hard we're working to catch this killer. There's not much I can say to dispel their fears when it's pretty obvious a monster lives and kills amongst them," Brody said, before changing the subject. "Can you see the briefcase in the backseat?"
"Yes."
"There is a file inside it I want you to see."
Carly unzipped the leather briefcase, and withdrew a manila folder. "Found it."
"Neal Denison, the Indianapolis detective assigned to the Alison Brown case, faxed some information he's discovered. I think you'll find it interesting."
Carly opened the file and reviewed the missing person report on top. Like the two murdered girls, Amanda and Sophia, Alison was thirteen-years-old. She pulled out Alison's photo. "Poor girl. She's overweight with glasses and braces on her teeth—which could add up to a miserable school experience. Kids can be so unkind to each other." She reviewed Detective Denison's notes from his interview with Alison's parents, Raymond and Margaret. He hadn't gotten much useful information, and Carly silently vowed to get more. When she got to the last piece of paper, her jaw dropped, and she held it up for Brody.
"Did you see this? The stepfather has a record."
"Yes. Denison didn't discover it until yesterday, after he'd already interviewed the parents. He wants us to bring up Brown's record when we interview the parents. He'll be outside the house waiting in an unmarked car. He has a search warrant."
<><><>
Carly spotted the unmarked police car as soon as they pulled up in front of the house. Denison was parked less than a block down, in an older model, black Mustang.
Alison Brown's home was a two-level, red brick structure, not unlike the rest of the homes that lined the street in her middle-class neighborhood. The lawn was small and plain with an unkempt hedge that lined the front of the house.
Alison's mother answered the door, and invited them inside. Margaret was a petite woman with dark smudges of exhaustion under her eyes. After Brody did introductions, she expelled a long, tired breath as she led them to the living room where her husband, Raymond, was pouring dark coffee into mugs. Raymond was a thin, wiry man who stiffened when they entered the room. He introduced himself, and indicated for Carly and Brody to sit on the suede brown sofa, while he and Margaret sat in chairs on either side.
Margaret, chewing worriedly on her lower lip, said, "I don't want to seem rude, but I don't understand why investigators from Shawnee County would want to talk to us. Has someone reported seeing our Alison in your county?"
Brody answered, "No, Mrs. Brown. There have been no sightings of Alison." He paused, and then added. "If there is a chance Alison is in Shawnee County, we want to be able to help find her."
Carly glanced at Brody, remembering their decision not to tell the Browns about their Internet predator and the discovery of the bodies. Knowing their child was missing was enough trauma for the parents.
"Thank you for your help," Margaret said, her eyes filling with tears. "I can't believe she's gone." She covered her face with her hands and bent over in her chair, crying so hard her shoulders shook with anguish.
Carly patted Margaret's hand to comfort her. "We know how hard all this must be for you. If you and your husband would please answer some questions, what we learn might help us find your daughter."
Pulling a tissue from her pocket, Margaret dabbed at her eyes. "Ask anything you want."
Brody went first, "Have you noticed any changes in Alison's behavior lately?"
"Yes, the school called me in and told me Alison has been skipping school. I work nights, and it seems Alison was pretending to leave for school. Later when she thought I was asleep, she'd return to the house and hide in her room."
"Had Alison ever skipped school before?"
"Never. She has always been an excellent student and loved going to school. But she changed. For the past few months, she's been quiet, even secretive. Alison spends a lot of time on her laptop in her bedroom behind closed doors."
Brody then turned to Raymond, "What about you? Have you seen any changes in Alison's behavior?
"No. Nothing," he responded, avoiding Brody's eyes.
"There's something else," Margaret offered. "Alison has been especially clumsy lately. She's had a lot of scratches, bruising, scrapes on her knees, even a black eye within the past few weeks. I'm a nurse. I notice these things. When I asked her about them, she said she'd fallen at school or on the way home."
"Interesting." Brody jotted some notes in his small pad. "Ms. Stone, what are some of your questions?"
Directing her response to Margaret, Carly said, "Would it be possible for me to see Alison's room?"
Alison's mother nodded, and led Carly and Brody up the stairs to her daughter's bedroom with Raymond close behind. Once inside the room, Brody stood near the doorway and watched.
Carly looked around the room, taking in everything, questions swirling in her mind. The first thing she noticed was that the room looked too tidy for a preteen girl. The white walls were devoid of any teen rock star posters or bulletin boards with photos of friends. The white bedspread with large purple flowers covered Alison's bed. A matching rug lay perfectly aligned with the bed on the hardwood floor. Crisp white and purple print curtains hung over the windows. A few textbooks, notepads and a pencil holder lay on a white writing desk. A surge protector lay on the floor, but there were no computers, eReaders, or other devices in the room.
"Have you cleaned this room since your first visit with the police?"
"No, why do you ask?"
Shrugging her shoulders, Carly didn't answer and asked, "Does Alison have a computer, ereader or cell phone?"
"Yes, she has a laptop, an eReader, and an iPhone. We noticed they were missing."
"What else did Alison take with her?"
Margaret opened a closet that was as tidy as the rest of the room, with shoes lined up on the floor, and a few shirts, pants, and dresses hanging above them.
"Alison has a small blue rolling suitcase that we can't find. I think she stuffed it with jeans, shirts, and underwear, along with her laptop. She was never without her iPhone in her purse."
Carly moved to a four-drawer white dresser and began opening drawers. Most were nearly empty. When she reached the last drawer, her eyes riveted on the hardwood floor. Bending down to her knees, she ran her index finger over the deep scratches in the wood, she said, "This dresser has been moved several times. See these tracks?" Carly pointed out the scratches leading from the dresser to the bedroom door. She glanced inquiringly at Margaret, who was bending down beside her.
"I've never moved it," said Margaret.
"What about you?" Carly asked Raymond, who paled slightly as he shook his head.
Carly stood, helped Margaret to her feet, and then brushed her hands against her pants. "Here's what I think. Alison moved the dresser. The deep scratches indicate she moved it several times. The scratches lead to the door, which tells me she was trying to keep someone out of her bedroom."
Walking over to the door, Carly said, "This door knob has been tampered with from the outside of the door." She directed the remark to Alison's stepfather, who wiped at a bead of sweat on his brow and nervously glanced at his wife. "Raymond, do you know why Alison might have been moving the dresser against this door?"
"No, of course not," he said defensively, nervously glancing at the doorway that Brody now blocked.
Carly looked at Margaret hard, and asked, "Did Raymond tell you he served eight years in prison?"
"What?" she demanded, as she shot a searching look to her husband. "What's she talking about, Raymond?"
"Tell her about it, Raymond." Brody dared. "Tell your wife how you served time for sexual misconduct with a twelve-year-old child."
