by Kaylea Cross
“Paul Langford is our lead suspect.”
“What?”
A rumble sounded in the background and then Beckett came on the line. “Paul Langford?”
“Yeah, looks like.”
“What do you need?”
Noah rubbed at his eyes, chest tight. “A miracle.” Every minute that passed without knowing Langford’s location gave him a larger window to work with, and increased the chance that they wouldn’t find Poppy in time to save her.
He couldn’t even handle the thought. He wanted to scream, punch something.
“I’ll call Weaver. We’ll be down there in fifteen minutes to help with the search.”
Noah’s throat was almost too tight to respond. “Thanks.” He’d no sooner hung up than Silvestri walked out of Langford’s house.
He met Noah’s gaze squarely. “Nothing so far. I’d like to go back to the crime scene.”
Unable to do anything more here, Noah nodded and got in his cruiser for the drive back to Poppy’s. The team was still at work when they arrived.
He mentally shook his head at himself as they reached the crime scene tape strung across the lane in front of her house. Christ. He’d made things even worse by unknowingly contaminating the scene earlier, and so far no one had reported any sightings of Paul.
He and Silvestri walked over to the lead forensics tech standing on Poppy’s front porch. “Few drops of blood here in the entryway,” the guy said, squatting near the front door where he’d sprayed luminol on the floor.
Noah ducked inside to look. Tiny little blood spatters appeared in an area of about two feet. There was no way of knowing for the time being whether it was Poppy’s or her kidnapper’s. Until he found out otherwise, he was assuming her abductor was Paul.
He went outside to check on the search of her property. It was weird; the only footprints they’d found on the floor had been his—because he’d been a dumbass—and Poppy’s bare footprints. How had the attacker gotten inside? Where was the evidence?
She didn’t have any security cameras set up in or around her house. The ones around his backyard only covered his property, and the one mounted in his carport hadn’t recorded any traffic coming or going up the street since he’d left to go to see Molly the first time. There were no witnesses to the kidnapping, and no sightings of the landscaping van before or after Noah had seen it.
Goddamn it, if Paul had taken her, it meant she’d been in the van when Noah saw it. Worse, he’d fucking waved at the bastard and kept on driving.
He shook off the anger and guilt, because they wouldn’t help find Poppy. There would be plenty of time to beat himself up over it once they found her and got her home safely.
Because they were bringing her home safely, Noah vowed, clenching his jaw.
He forced himself back into cop mode, the worry constantly threatening to cloud his brain. More forensics techs were combing her front and back yards. Noah went out back, careful to avoid the area they were working in.
“Got a set of prints here,” a female Fed said, indicating a path she’d found in the grass. “Wide boot of some kind with treads on the bottom. Men’s size eleven or so. Comes from the woods.” She nodded over the fence where more of the tech team were combing the ground.
“We’ll check it against a pair we found at the suspect’s house.” It chilled him to think that Paul had been hiding in these woods, waiting to get to her. “They go into the house?”
“First to the back patio, then up the porch. They stop there.”
“Did he go around the side and enter from the front?”
“Not sure yet.”
“Buchanan.”
Noah turned around. The lead forensics guy stood there in his white hooded suit. “Got something?”
“He wore disposable shoe covers. Must have put them on once he got to the back porch.” He motioned for Noah to follow him around front, and pointed to the front steps. “They lead down and along the walkway, then across the road to the trees. When they reach there, we found some good impressions in the forest floor. They’re deeper there than in the set that leads from the woods to the backyard.”
Because he’d been carrying Poppy on the way out.
Jesus, Noah felt ill. “Where do the tracks lead to?”
“Still following the trail. My guess is he parked his van on the other side of the woods and carried her to it.”
And then Noah had driven right past him and waved.
Following his initial hunch, he’d ordered a background check on Paul as soon as he’d called dispatch. He took a call from another FBI contact. “Found something interesting in your suspect’s background.”
“What?”
“No known criminal activity, but his mother went missing five years ago outside of Portland. Still unsolved, they never found her body. Didn’t come up immediately because she had a different surname.”
Noah’s fingers tightened around the phone. Red flag. Red motherfucking flag.
“Langford was questioned and released a week after she went missing. There was nothing linking him to her death or disappearance, but—”
“But the timeframe works. Her disappearance is near the start of the missing women’s case and within the geographical area of the suspected killer.”
“Yeah.”
More weight piled onto his chest. Their serial killer. Paul might be their serial killer, and he had Poppy.
Another Fed flagged him down from the other side of Poppy’s front yard. Noah hurried over to meet him at the front gate, pulse picking up. “Got something?”
“Got a tip from someone about the van.”
“Someone found it?”
“Looks like.”
His pulse thrummed in his throat, his brain screaming at him to move, move. “Let’s go.”
He drove Silvestri and another Fed to the location, a forensics team following. His heart rate doubled when he spotted the van tucked away out of sight from the road. While he and the agents secured the perimeter, the techs took over.
Within minutes they’d found some evidence: a pair of shoe covers and a few strands of honey-blond hair.
The news sent his stomach plummeting to his feet.
Silvestri made some calls, conferred with his team, then approached Noah several minutes later, his face calm and grim.
“Any more credible tips?” Noah made himself ask, praying they would catch a break. This bastard had been preying on innocent women for too long. All they needed was one decent break to nail him.
The agent shook his head. “Nothing.”
Noah turned away and walked to his cruiser, caught between despair and helpless fury, his throat so thick he could hardly swallow.
Another dead end. And his cop’s brain told him that it had probably cost Poppy her life.
Chapter Twenty
Pressure surrounded her head. Everything was muffled, as though she was encased in some kind of sound-proofing material.
Poppy forced her weighted eyelids apart, her brain fuzzy. Something was moving across her skin. It was quiet. Too quiet. She couldn’t think clearly. What was wrong with her?
Gray shadows slowly began to lighten as she blinked slowly, her body eerily heavy and limp. And cold.
Images gradually formed, her brain slow to process them. The shadows moved. Swaying. Dapples of light appearing in them. Green and yellow.
Grass. She could smell it now. And the swaying shadows were in the form of branches, waving slowly over the green carpet she was lying on.
She was naked, she realized with a shock. The breeze was skating over her skin. That’s what she had been feeling. Goosebumps rippled over her, followed quickly by confusion. What the hell?
“Good, you’re finally awake.”
It took an act of will to turn her head the few inches to see the source of the voice. A man. Sitting in a lawn chair a few feet away, watching her. White beard. He looked familiar.
“You remember who I am, Poppy?”
&nbs
p; The menace lacing his voice set off a warning prickle at the base of her neck even as shame swamped her. Struggling to curl up to cover herself, she searched her mind. She did know him. He was familiar. Where…
She sucked in a sharp breath as her memory flooded back, followed immediately by a flash of fear.
Paul. The old man. He’d taken her. Put her in his van and brought her here. Where were they?
Her heart slammed against her ribs like the wings of a terrified bird. Her muscles grudgingly obeyed as she tried to roll over. She had to get away. Run. Find help.
His low chuckle sent a wave of ice sluicing over her. “I was worried I gave you too much sedative, but it’s finally wearing off.” His chair shifted as he stood. “We can get started now.”
Bile rushed into her throat. She made it to her side, managed to get her arm beneath her and struggled to push up on her hands. Run. You have to run.
Paul reached down, grasped the edge of the tape over her mouth and ripped it off. Before the sting had even registered he slid his arms beneath her and lifted her into the air.
Poppy pushed feebly at his chest, an animalistic sound of rage and fear coming from her throat. Her brain was fully functional now but she was still weak. And he was carrying her over the grass toward something. She rolled her head away from his chest, cringing at the feel of him, and looked in the direction he was going.
A garden. Brilliant flowers were planted in rings at the edge of various mounded garden beds. All set inside a manicured lawn surrounded by a thick forest of evergreens.
Off to the right sat a huge mound of dirt. Then she saw the hole he must have dug in the ground. And the shovel planted beside it. Waiting to fill it back in after he…
A low cry ripped from her as she realized what was about to happen. Her entire body jerked taut, adrenaline jolting her system like she’d been shocked with jumper cables.
“No! No!” she yelled, shoving harder. Her body was getting stronger every second. She shoved, raked her fingernails along his forearms.
“There we go,” he said on a chuckle that made her insides curdle. “Perfect.”
She didn’t even care about her nakedness now; all she cared about was escaping this psycho and getting free. But no matter how she twisted and turned, he was too strong for her.
Out of desperation she flung her head to the side and lashed out with her teeth, trying to take a chunk out of his shoulder. He merely laughed and flung her to the ground.
Poppy flipped onto her stomach, lurched to her knees. She made it to her feet, managed to take three stumbling steps before he scooped her up again, seizing her hair this time in an iron grip that yanked her head back at a painful angle.
Her airway closed up. She grabbed hold of the meaty wrists holding her by the hair, yanking and scratching to alleviate the burn on her scalp and give her some room.
The whole time he kept walking, dragging her now over the rain-wet grass. It slid under her, cool and silky against her naked skin, the crushed, green smell of it nauseating beneath the tidal wave of fear engulfing her.
Then the earthy smell of dirt grew heavy in her nostrils. He stopped walking. “Here you go,” he said, breathing faster, as though her struggles excited him. “I’ve made you a nice bed to sleep in.” He wrenched her captive head to the side, and she couldn’t stop from looking down into the pit he’d dug.
It had to be at least five feet deep. And there was something at the bottom of it. A wooden box with a pillow and blanket inside it.
He’d built her a coffin. Planned to bury her in it here and now.
Poppy lost it.
Her mind shut down. She was nothing but pure, base instinct as she launched herself at him, teeth bared, fingers curled like claws as she went for his face. Pain tore across her scalp as her hair came loose in his fist.
He whooped in delight and released her, stood there with a maniacal smile on his face, dodging back just before she could strike his face. Unable to stop her momentum, she hit the grass on her belly, the air whooshing out of her starving lungs. She jerked up onto her hands, lunged to her feet.
He kicked her leg out from beneath her, sending her crashing to the ground again. He was laughing as he snagged her flailing ankles and dragged her toward the hole.
Her fingers clawed at the grass, tearing it up, stirring up more of that earthy smell as she was hauled backward. A sob choked her, hopelessness crashing in. She wasn’t going to escape him. She was going to die.
“Not afraid of the dark, are you, Poppy?” he panted, pulling her slowly now, enjoying tormenting her. Giving her just enough slack to be able to continue to fight while he reeled her ever closer to her grave.
Not the dark! She hated the dark. Had since the night of that tornado outbreak. The thought of being trapped in a box in the ground was the most terrifying thing she could imagine.
Her legs slid over the edge of the hole. Tears spilled down her face, her torso convulsing with each wrenching sob.
The balls of her feet touched the edge of the grave. She recoiled, her exhausted body bucking to try and stave off the inevitable.
“Don’t worry, I’ll stay here and keep you company for the first little while.”
Then she was falling.
Her scream of terror and denial pierced the air.
Strong hands caught her under the shoulders, stopping her fall.
Poppy peeled her eyelids apart to look up. Paul was crouched in front of her at the edge of the hole, watching her face intently. Beads of sweat dotted his forehead, the horrific, hungry gleam in his eyes making her heart seize.
They stared at each other for endless seconds, her heart pounding in her ears.
Then an evil smile curled his lips and he was pushing her down, down into the coffin he’d made.
Her back hit the blanket. She screamed again, jackknifed upward. The light overhead was diminishing, increasing her panic.
Her head slammed into something. Her hands came up, shoving against it. Wood. The lid of her coffin.
Abject terror closed in, suffocating her as the lid sealed her in complete darkness. Her screams reverberated against the wooden walls of her tomb. She clawed at the wood above her, jagged splinters piercing her skin. She heard the locks close around the edges.
“Nooooo!” She beat at the lid and the sides, refusing to accept her fate. It was too small for her to sit up or roll over. There was barely enough room for her to even move her limbs.
Panic and claustrophobia drowned her. She screamed until her throat was raw. Clawed until her bleeding fingers were numb.
She cried out when something thudded against the surface of the lid. Her gaze snapped to a small circle of light in it.
She followed it upward, to the brilliant blue sky above her, dotted with fluffy white clouds. The break in the total darkness made the haze of panic receded slightly. She lay there, panting, trembling all over, nausea twisting her belly into a hard knot.
Then a new noise registered above her, past her choked breaths and the roar of blood in her ears.
The distinctive sound of a shovel sliding into earth. And the patter of dirt as it landed on the lid above her.
Poppy sobbed, beating and kicking, her gaze latched onto that tiny circle of sky far above her. “Please don’t do this,” she begged. “Please let me out.” Even as she pleaded she knew it wouldn’t do her any good.
The digging continued. Dirt kept raining down onto the lid, piling on top until the sound became muffled. Sealing her deep underground.
Finally her body gave out. She stopped screaming. Stopped fighting, even as the storm of grief raged inside her.
Minutes dragged past. Maybe hours. Time was marked by the beat of her heart, each shallow breath she drew. And the sound of the shovel digging into the pile of dirt above her.
Finally it stopped.
She squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her lips together. Tears rolled down her temples, dripping into her hair. Her chest hitched with each muffled sob.
Alone. Trapped. No family to grieve for her.
Noah.
The thought of him made her cry harder. He’d come to mean so much to her over the short time they’d had together. He would know she was missing by now. He’d be looking for her.
But he was too late. No one could save her now. No one would ever know what had happened to her.
She had fought and lost.
There was no way out of here.
She’d just been buried alive.
****
She was perfect. So fucking perfect, even better than he had imagined she would be.
Paul paused in his shoveling to wipe his forearm across his sweaty forehead. The gloves he’d worn had only protected his battered hands a little. Blood seeped through the suede from the raw spots he’d worn into his skin when he’d dug the grave, and the bandages must have slipped.
She’d stopped fighting and crying now. He’d purposely left her unrestrained when he’d dragged her into the grave because he liked it that way. The way they fought satisfied something inside him. She’d lasted a lot longer than the others. They’d all exhausted themselves and given over to quiet weeping within the first twenty minutes of being locked in their coffins.
Poppy was quiet. Not even the occasional burst of panic or fear transmitting to him through the open end of the breathing pipe he’d pounded into the hole in the lid of the coffin.
He shoveled for another twenty minutes and had to take a break again. The sun had long since sunk below the tops of the evergreens surrounding the property.
It had taken way longer than he’d wanted for the sedative to wear off. For a while there he’d checked her pulse every ten minutes to make sure she hadn’t overdosed. By the time she’d come to enough to understand what was going on, there hadn’t been time for anything more than burying her.
It would have to be enough.
After shoveling the last of the dirt and forming a neat mound, he tidied up the edging where it met the grass. Once that was done he planted a ring of sun-loving mini petunias around the edge, added some perennials in an inner ring and left the center bare.
