Two (Count to Ten Book 2)
Page 1
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Two
Jane Blythe
Copyright © 2016 Jane Blythe
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, distributed, reverse engineered or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, including photocopying and recording, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented without permission in writing from the publisher.
All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Bear Spots Publications
Melbourne Australia
bearspotspublications@gmail.com
Paperback
ISBN: 0-9924180-8-9
ISBN-13: 978-0-9924180-8-3
Cover designed by QDesigns
I’d like to thank everyone who played a part in bringing this story to life. Particularly my mom who is always there to share her thoughts and opinions with me. My awesome cover designer, Amy, who whips up covers so quickly and who patiently makes every single change I ask for! And my lovely editor Mitzi Carroll and proofreader Marisa Nichols, for all their encouragement and for all the hard work they put into polishing my work.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
AUGUST 12th
11:42 P.M.
Caressing her swollen stomach, enjoying the feel of her baby kicking, she savored every second because she didn’t know what the future held for either of them.
“This time is different,” Brooke said aloud. “This time I’m not a scared fifteen-year-old.”
Yet even as she spoke the words, Brooke knew that her age, and the fact that she had been able to think quickly on her feet and adapt to any given situation, were the only reasons she was still here.
“This time is different,” she said again, welcoming the inky darkness that kept her hidden from view. “Almost time,” she assured her child. “Soon I will have everything I ever dreamed of.”
She gazed up at the huge brick mansion where the Everette family lived in the lap of luxury, money, and power, covering their wicked deeds as completely as the moonless night kept her covered from sight. Her gaze melted from determined to longing as she felt her mind fly back through time to her childhood. Brooke had grown up on a small farm, her father working occasional construction jobs in their tiny community to make ends meet. Her mother spent every second tending their vegetable gardens, patching their tattered clothes, and cooking enough food to feed Brooke and her ten siblings.
As a child, Brooke had felt her entire life revolved around chores. She’d rise before the sun to help with the cooking and cleaning, then off to school—a two-mile walk each way. Returning home brought more hours of chores that ran long into the night before she could collapse into her bed, to spend just a couple of hours in blissful slumber before having to rise to start the cycle all over again. Besides the vegetable gardens, there were the chickens and cows to attend to, plus the indoor chores that Brooke had hated most of all. Cooking, cleaning, laundry, caring for her younger siblings—she had loathed every second of it. But out in the fresh air, on her own with no one to hassle her, she had been able to dream.
The Mariano family was not an unhappy one, despite their poverty. Her parents had been kind and loving, spending whatever time they could spare with their children, but Brooke had known early on that she wanted more out of life. She didn’t want to wear her fingers to the bone just to survive. She didn’t want to spend every single second working and toiling. She wanted to enjoy life. She wanted to have money–and lots of it. She wanted power and fame. She wanted everything she could ever dream of and she didn’t want to work for it.
So the day after her fifteenth birthday, she had stashed her few bits of clothing in her school bag, retrieved the few dollars she had managed to save from her secret hiding place—the box that held her sanitary napkins which was the only spot she was sure her three younger brothers would never look—and started on the walk to school. Halfway there she had announced to her siblings that she wasn’t feeling well and was going to turn around and head back home. Of course, her older brothers, seventeen-year-old identical triplets, had wanted to walk back with her to make sure she got there safely, but she had protested that the smaller children needed to get to school on time, and that they knew what a handful the younger boys, aged thirteen, eleven and nine, could be. Plus, the two-mile walk was a lot for the little girls, only seven and five, who often needed some help to make it the whole way to school.
At last, she succeeded in convincing her brothers and sisters to continue on without her. She had held her breath as she watched them disappear from sight, before literally squealing with delight when she realized her plan had worked.
Beelining to the nearest major road, she hitchhiked her way to the big city. In awe of all the big buildings and the lights and the hustle and bustle, she wandered the streets until well after dark. She had been surprised when a car had pulled up beside her, the driver asking whether she was open for business. In all her naïveté it had taken her almost a full minute to figure out what he was asking, then realizing she did not have enough money on her to pay for a place to spend the night, she had nodded and slid into the car. That first night she had been so glad of the couple of afternoon romps with her first and only boyfriend behind the school gymnasium that meant she wasn’t a complete novice.
It didn’t take Brooke long to figure out that sex in cars with lonely losers was never going to get her where she wanted to be. So she moved out of the Motel 6 where she’d been staying and slept on the street to save her money to buy a fake ID, some nice clothes, and take a trip to the salon. Then she interviewed for and got a job as a maid at the classiest hotel in the city, and within days of starting work there she met Logan Everette II.
A judge, who worked in the city while his wife lived out on the family estate, Logan was always on the lookout for a pretty young girl who would satisfy his manly needs. He paid her handsomely, not just for sex but also to ensure her silence. He also lavished her with gifts, expensive jewelry and clothing, and put her up in a room at the hotel so he could see her whenever he wished.
Her fifteen-year-old brain ticking over, Brooke decided that if Logan treated her this well when she was simply his mistress, imagine what life could be like as his wife. The only way she could think of to get him to leave his wife and marry her was to get pregnant, so she went to work sabotaging the supply of condoms he kept in her hotel room. A mere six weeks later when he knocked on her door in the middle of the night she greeted him with an enormous grin and announced that she was with child.
Of course, things didn’t quite work out the way she had planned, but she had adapted, and this time everything was going to play out perfectly . . .
Brooke gasped as something slammed into her back, momentarily knocking the air from her lungs and sending her sprawling onto the soft grass. Before she had a chance to recover, handcuffs were snapped onto her wrists, securing them behind her back; another set were clamped onto
her ankles.
As the bright white dots that danced in front of her eyes slowly dissipated, a ghostly white face hovering above her began to take shape. As she took in the features Brooke recoiled in shock, her brain flatly refused to accept what it was seeing.
“You are not going to ruin things for me,” a voice growled.
Something glinted in the moonlight, but it took her a long moment to comprehend what exactly it was.
As the knife came toward her, Brooke readied herself for an agonizing burst of pain in her chest or neck, as the blade pierced her heart or sliced her carotid artery. But instead, pain erupted in her stomach.
She let out an ear-piercing scream as the knife cut a line across her middle. At least Brooke thought she let out a scream, but maybe it was nothing more than a horrified squawk.
Minutes later a pair of hands wrapped themselves around her neck, squeezing violently. Brooke tried to wiggle free from their grip, but between the restraints on her wrists and ankles and her eight-and-a-half months’ pregnant belly, she was helpless to do anything.
The hands squeezed tighter and tighter, and although Brooke tried in vain to scream for help, she was unable to produce a single sound. Panic rose with each second till it flooded through her entire body; if it had been able to replace oxygen, she’d have been fine. Brooke tried to fight it, but it clawed at her, tightening its grip along with the hands around her throat.
Lungs burning, vision blackening, with her last cognitive thought Brooke wished for the first time in sixteen years that she had never left her parents’ farm.
AUGUST 13th
9:38 A.M.
“Please tell me she was dead before that happened,” Detective Ryan Xander looked in horror at the body that lay before them.
“Yes, Frankie, please tell us she was already dead before someone did that to her,” Paige Hood, Ryan’s partner, echoed.
Francesca Marks looked up at them, her usually jovial almond-shaped, brown eyes subdued, and shook her head. “Blood everywhere. Pooled underneath her. She was alive when he did it.”
Ryan shuddered and took a deep breath to try and calm himself. “Okay, well victim’s name is Brooke Mariano.” So long as he focused on the facts before him he’d be able to settle his racing heart. “We have to go talk to the gardener who found the body; but first, you got anything for us, Frankie?”
The medical examiner brushed a lock of straight dark brown hair out of her eyes then leaned over the body. “Looks like she died of asphyxiation, probably strangled.” Frankie gestured at the red marks crossing Brooke Mariano’s throat and then her eyes, probably because there was petechial hemorrhaging there.
“She didn’t bleed out?” Paige asked.
“No, looks like he strangled her, but she would have bled out if he hadn't.” Lifting one of her arms. “Red marks around her wrists, so she was probably restrained, made it a whole lot easier for the killer to strangle her.”
“Still had to get the restraints on somehow,” Ryan murmured, more to himself than to Paige or Frankie. Focusing on the top part of her body, he didn’t have to think about what the killer had done to his victim. Instead, he took in the dirt on Brooke Mariano’s arms and under her fingernails. Despite being restrained, she had still fought valiantly for her life.
“Not sure how yet,” Frankie continued. “Maybe the examination will show us how he did it. Looks like he restrained the ankles too, red marks there.”
Ryan’s eyes never made it to the red marks encircling her ankles, instead they were riveted on Brooke Mariano’s abdomen. Before strangling his victim, the killer had cut off her clothing. The front half of her dress was discarded about a foot away; the back half remained on the ground beneath the body, and then, with her body exposed, he had proceeded to cut her unborn child from her womb.
Brooke’s swollen breasts seemed almost like eyes staring up at him, the huge gaping red hole in her stomach appeared to grin mockingly like some sort of grotesque clown, and all Ryan could think of was the horrifying way that poor baby had entered the world. The infant’s body was not with its mother, and Ryan wondered if the baby was even still alive.
Before he could stop it, his mind was off and running. What did a newborn think or feel? Had the baby been scared as it had been ripped from its mother’s womb? Had it wondered why it no longer heard its mother’s familiar voice? Was it somewhere cold and hungry and alone right now, wondering why there was nobody to care for it? Had it been scared as its life slipped away? Had it even understood what was happening?
And what about the baby’s mother? Had she begged for her and her child’s life as the killer had cut out her baby? What had been going through Brooke’s mind as her life was squeezed out of her? Had her last thoughts been for her child? Had she apologized to her baby for not protecting it?
Ryan had no children of his own, but his younger brother had four, the oldest of which had recently won a battle with leukemia. Through the long months of treatment and hospital visits Ryan had seen the pain and suffering his brother and sister-in-law had gone through as they were helpless to do a thing to save their child. Luckily, treatment had been successful and Brian had just celebrated his sixth birthday. Ryan hoped that a happy ending might still be possible for Brooke Mariano’s baby.
Clearing her throat, Frankie stood, tearing Ryan’s attention away from Brooke’s desecrated body to focus his gaze on the medical examiner. One look at his partner’s horrified face and Ryan knew that Paige, too, had been thinking about her nieces and nephews, and the children that she and her new husband would have one day.
“I’m going to take her back to the morgue, see what her body will tell me.”
Despite the hundreds of bodies forty-four-year-old Frankie had dealt with, Ryan could tell this one had deeply affected her too. Frankie had been born and raised in Japan, moving here to attend medical school. She had remained upon completing her degree and joined the medical examiner’s office. Frankie was as smart as they came, and just as pretty. She and her husband had just celebrated their only child’s first birthday. After years of trying unsuccessfully to get pregnant, miracle baby Tania was the light of her parents’ lives.
Not envying the ME one iota, Ryan couldn’t wait to be out of the presence of Brooke Mariano’s corpse. “Do you think the baby could still be alive?” He wanted desperately to believe that this innocent child could still be saved.
Nodding slowly, “If it is of viable age, then yes, the baby could still be alive.”
“According to the gardener who found the body, she was eight-and-a-half months along in her pregnancy.”
“Then it’s definitely a real possibility that whoever killed its mother is taking care of it,” Frankie confirmed.
“Okay, we’ll touch base later.” Hoping that between whatever Frankie could learn from the body, and whatever CSU had gathered from their earlier search of the grounds, they would be able to find the baby if it was still out there somewhere before it met with the same fate as its mother.
“The gardener’s waiting for us in the greenhouse,” he reminded Paige, who tore her eyes away from Brooke to nod. Even his partner looked rattled by this murder, and in the four years they’d known each other, Ryan could barely recall a time where anything had caused Paige to lose her cool. She was an expert at remaining calm, no matter what was going on around her.
As he and his partner walked briskly through the perfectly manicured gardens, Ryan took a moment to study the five-story brick mansion that sat on a small hill overlooking the gardens. Ryan knew a little about the Everette family. Patriarch Logan II was a retired judge. His wife, Gloria, came from old money, the exact source of which Ryan wasn’t quite sure. They had five children—three sons and two daughters—the youngest of which was rumored to be the product of an affair the judge had with a much younger woman.
There was one member of the Everette family who intrigued him more than the rest . . .
“Ryan,” Paige’s hand clamped down on his shoul
der.
“What?” he shot her a mildly irritated frown.
“You want to take a trip to the hospital?” She gestured at the glass door of the greenhouse that, with his next step, he would have crashed straight into.
“I guess my mind was elsewhere,” he shot her a grateful smile.
“I guess so.”
The slight raise of her perfectly sculptured brown brow, and the slightly too understanding gleam in her calm brown eyes, had him wondering whether she knew exactly what he had been thinking about. Ryan hated to be transparent. In fact, he prided himself on his ability to keep his thoughts and feelings to himself and to separate his private and work lives. Perhaps the last few months with all the hoopla about Paige’s wedding and the arrival of his newest little nephew, he had been letting some previously carefully buried longings rise to the surface.
“Tick, tock, tick, tock,” Paige murmured. “There could be a baby in danger somewhere out there. Are we going in to talk with the gardener or not?”
Instantly refocused, Ryan pushed open the door and stepped into the oppressive heat of the greenhouse. At the sound of the door opening, the gardener, a short round man who appeared to be in his early to mid-fifties, bounded up and spun to look at them.
“Are you the police detectives?” he demanded, sprinting to their side, sweat trickling down a tanned, leathery face, the result of years spent working outdoors.
“Yes we are, Mr. Hannigan.” Paige led him back to the small group of chairs in the corner. “Let’s sit.”
Twitching furiously, the gardener sat. “He cut her open,” he jabbered. “He cut Brooke open, cut her open and took the baby.”
“I’m sorry you had to see her like that, Mr. Hannigan.” Ryan took the seat beside his partner. “Were you and Ms. Mariano friends?”