Be a Good Girl

by Tess Diamond

  Without another word, he took Abby’s hand, and led her out of the room, where they were greeted by a crowd of guards, led by Stan, looking panicked and worried.

  Paul tossed Stan his keys. “He’s all yours, boys.”

  Chapter 29

  When they got back to the farmhouse, Paul tossed the bag of Wells’s hair to Zooey.

  “You make sure it was from the root?” she asked. “I need the root.”

  “It’s from the root,” he said.

  “Good.”

  “Why are you testing his hair?” Abby asked. Her stomach leapt, horror filling her. “You didn’t . . . you didn’t dig Cass up, did you?”

  “No,” Zooey assured her. “I have a theory. It’s kind of a wild theory, but after I talked it through with our profiler in DC, I figured it was worth a shot.”

  “Zooey thinks that Wells and the unsub could be related,” Paul explained.

  “What?” Shock coursed through Abby. “Seriously?”

  “I kept asking myself, why is Wells protecting this guy? He’s too much of a control freak to trust all his secrets—his teachings—to someone who was on the other side of an anonymous screen. They may have communicated online, but they had to know each other in real life. So what kind of bond keeps Wells from giving him up, even after he framed him for murder?

  “Wells’s first wife, Ruth, left him after only a year of marriage,” Zooey said. “She didn’t go directly back to her family, even though that was her original plan. She went to stay with an aunt. And six months later, she shows up at the hospital, pregnant. The thing is, she doesn’t leave with a baby.”

  “She gave the baby up for adoption,” Abby said in realization. “Oh, that must have infuriated him. He’s obsessed with legacy.”

  “What better way to insure your legacy than to track your son down and teach him your serial killer ways?” Zooey asked.

  It was a chilling thought. Twisted. But it would make sense of the fact that Wells never exposed his protégé. It never sat right with Abby that he’d kept quiet about it, all these years.

  “It might explain the animosity the unsub clearly feels against Wells,” Paul said. “He dedicated a lot to framing him. But I’m guessing that the high of that faded fast.”

  “Which is why he was back to not just killing girls, but abducting them and keeping them captive in just twenty-four months,” Abby finished, feeling grim.

  “Exactly,” Paul said.

  “I’m gonna take this to the sheriff’s station,” Zooey said. “My equipment got delivered this morning. I should have the relevant DNA strands isolated and run through the database in a few hours. If our guy’s ever been arrested, we should get a hit.”

  “And then we find Robin,” Paul said.

  Abby reached out and squeezed his shoulder.

  “I need to get back to my mom’s,” Paul said. “Georgia is . . . she’s not well. And Jason’s barely keeping it together.”

  “Of course,” Abby said. “I’ll go with you—” she started to say, but there was a knock at her door.

  “Abby?” called a voice. “I’ve got the monthly yield reports.”

  That was Jonah, her orchard manager. “Go on,” she told Paul. “I’ve got to deal with orchard stuff. I’ll come over later and bring everyone food.”

  He reached out, grabbing her hand and squeezing it briefly. “Thanks, Winny.”

  She smiled at the nickname. “I want to do everything I can,” she said. “For all of you.”

  “I know,” he said. “It just . . . it means a lot.”

  “Hey, Abby!”

  She turned toward Jonah’s voice. “Coming,” she called. “Go,” she urged Paul. “Zooey, you’ll call us if you get a hit on the DNA?”

  “Will do,” Zooey said, gathering her bag up and plopping the enormous hot-pink sun hat she had come in with on her head. “It’s gonna be okay, boss,” she told him. “I’m gonna beat these jerks with science. Just you wait.”

  Abby hurried out to meet Jonah, who had a big stack of ledgers in his hands and a smile when he saw her and Paul.

  “Jonah, man, I hadn’t realized you were working for Abby now,” Paul said, holding his hand out and taking the shorter man’s, shaking it warmly. “She’s treating you all right, I hope?”

  “She’s a great boss,” Jonah said. “I was so sorry to hear about Robin, Paul. The whole church is praying for her and your entire family.”

  “Thank you,” Paul said. “We appreciate those prayers. I’ve gotta go. I’ll leave you to your business. Abby, call me if anything changes, okay?”

  She nodded, watching him leave, wishing like anything she could follow him.

  But life didn’t stop, and she’d been putting Jonah off for weeks.

  “Come on into the living room,” she said with a smile. “You want something to drink?”

  Four hours later, the monthly yields and budgets had been recorded and typed into the spreadsheets, thanks to Jonah’s meticulous record-keeping.

  “You really are great at this, Jonah,” Abby said, shutting the ledger. She got up, stretching her arms over her head. “How’s Maria doing?” she asked, referring to his wife, who owned the diner in town.

  “Great,” he said. “Diner’s busier than ever.”

  “That’s great,” she said. Speaking of food . . . it was getting late. And Roscoe hadn’t whined for food in hours, even though it was past his dinnertime. Frowning, she whistled, but didn’t hear the click of his paws against the hardwood.

  “Roscoe!” she called.

  “He wander off again?” Jonah asked. “I swear, that dog’s getting senile.” He got up and went to the front door, calling for him.

  But there was no response.

  Getting worried—Roscoe wasn’t one to miss any meal—Abby shoved her feet into her yellow mucking-around boots and went out onto the porch. “Roscoe!” she yelled into the fading light. The sun was setting fast beyond the trees and the dog was nowhere to be found.

  “I’m gonna go look for him,” she told Jonah.

  “I’ll check out the barn,” Jonah said.

  They parted, Jonah heading west and Abby heading east, toward the trees.

  “Roscoe!” she called, her heart squeezing in her chest. Where was that smelly beast? If anything happened to him . . .

  She didn’t need any more losses right now. She knew it was silly, especially with what was going on, but Roscoe was the last dog her dad ever had. He’d slept at the foot of her father’s bed every night, the entire time he was sick.

  Her father had been a hard man, but his gentleness had always come out with animals. And sometimes, Abby would cling to that thought.

  “Roscoe! Come on, boy! Mama has treats!” she called, wishing she’d thought to grab a bag of chips or something from the kitchen.

  She heard the crack of a branch behind her. Was that him?

  “Roscoe?”

  Another crack. Footsteps. Coming at her fast.

  Running.

  Jonah wouldn’t be running. It was a flash of a thought, her stomach leapt and she turned—just a second too late.

  Something smashed into the side of her head. Pain lanced against her skull, it felt like it was splitting in two, and something warm trickled down her forehead as she fell to the ground.

  The last thing she saw, before her eyes fluttered shut and darkness overtook her, were the branches of the trees and the green of their leaves.

  Chapter 30

  Two hours earlier

  “It’s going to be okay, Georgia,” Rose said soothingly, smoothing her sister’s hair off her forehead like she was a child.

  Georgia didn’t even react. His sister’s normally bright eyes were dull, and the whites threaded with red. Someone had suggested giving her a Xanax, but Jason had shaken his head curtly.

  His brother-in-law looked like he was fighting the urge to cry at every second. Paul had tried to talk to him earlier, but Jason had finally made him stop, shaking his head.

/>   “I’m gonna lose it, man,” he’d told Paul. “And I can’t. Because Georgia and Robin need me. So just . . . tell me what I need to do.”

  “You’re doing it,” Paul assured him. “Your job is to take care of Georgia. My job is to get Robin back.”

  Jason had nodded, his face had crumpled, and Paul had wished to God he had the rest of his team here because he was usually good with victims’ families, but this was his family being victimized. He was no good at this. There were no rules for this. No handbook. No protocol.

  There was just him. And everyone expected him to come through. And if he didn’t?

  He couldn’t even think about what would happen—how it would break everyone—if he didn’t bring Robin home, safe and sound.

  He was going to tear that man apart with his bare hands. And no one was going to stop him.

  Rules had served him well for many years. But now? He would break every one to bring Robin home safe and whole to his family. Nothing else mattered.

  He stepped out of the bedroom where his sisters were soothing Georgia, knowing they were much better at it than he was. His mother was making her way up the stairs with a tray of food. There were circles under her eyes that hadn’t been there at the start of the week and a tightness around her mouth that he remembered from the days before his dad got sober.

  “How’s she doing?” she asked.

  Paul shook his head.

  “How could this happen?” his mother asked, looking at him like he had the answer.

  He didn’t want to tell her the truth. That this likely happened because of him. That the bastard had taken Robin because he’d gotten involved.

  “I am going to get her back, Mom,” he said, the promise in his voice ringing out, true and clear.

  “I know you are,” she said. “I know, sweetheart.”

  “Mom?” one of his sisters called from the room.

  His mother sniffed, her eyes bright. “I need to bring this to them,” she said. “They need to eat.”

  “Of course,” he said, stepping out of her way.

  “Come sit with us,” she said.

  But his phone had started ringing in his pocket. “I’ve got to take this,” he said, seeing that it was Cy.

  He hurried down the stairs and onto the porch, where it was quiet and private. It felt like the entire orchard house was full of people—Pastor Jamison was in the living room with a whole slew of teenagers who must be Robin’s friends. Even the boys—especially a group of them in the back—had red eyes.

  “Hey, Cy, what’s up?” he asked.

  “You said you were looking for seven missing girls, right?” Cy asked.

  “That’s right,” Paul said.

  “Then I think you need to come out here.”

  Paul frowned. There was a chilling note in Cy’s voice, and he wasn’t the kind of man who was easily ruffled. “Where are you?”

  “I’m out in the Siskiyous, about forty miles in past mile marker 704,” Cyrus said. “Some firefighter buddies of mine just finished putting out the latest fire that firebug the sheriff’s chasing set. They came across something really strange out past McCloud, pretty deep in the backwoods, and called me in immediately. You need to see it. And you need to bring that pink-haired scientist of yours. Because I’m pretty sure I’m looking at a mass grave here, Paul.”

  A chill went through him. Cyrus was not someone who leapt to conclusions. He’d traveled all around the globe—and he knew he had experience with horrors like mass graves.

  Had he found their unsub’s burial ground?

  “How do I get to you?” Paul asked. “Zooey and I are on our way.”

  Chapter 31

  The Siskiyou Mountains are a place of staggering beauty—and staggering secrets. The dense forest that takes up a large chunk of Northern California and Oregon is the home of a lot of good people, quite a few shady characters, and more dead bodies than anyone would like to admit.

  There were places in these mountains that hadn’t been walked by a person in decades, mines that had fallen into disuse after technology had finally sped up and the railroad went bust, and old roads that hadn’t been taken care of in years. After all, there was no one to walk them.

  “This is unbelievable,” Zooey said, staring numbly out at the valley stretched in front of them. There was still the scent of smoke in the air, and she could almost feel the heat still coming off the ground.

  They were eighty miles into the forest, far from people, from homes, from any towns. This was the real wilderness: hard to access, hard to find. The small clearing that Cyrus’s firefighter friends had discovered during the final run of the mountain was not natural. It was man-made.

  Their unsub had cleared these trees. By himself. One by one. To create the perfect burial ground.

  There were seven Xs formed by volcanic stones laid out in the valley, marking each grave with a six-foot mark. Like a sick imitation of a headstone, but instead of the girl’s names, instead of giving them personhood, instead of honoring them, he rendered them nameless, voiceless.

  Like things instead of humans.

  Paul stared across the clearing. The floodlights had been set up and a forensic team from Sacramento was twenty minutes away, choppered in by special request.

  Zooey was going to need some help.

  “I’m going in,” she declared. Without another word, she marched up to the first X, pulling on a pair of latex gloves, and then a pair of leather work gloves over it. The group of firefighters Cy had convinced to stick behind and help gathered around her as she began to describe what she needed them to do with the rocks.

  “You think this is gonna help find him?” Cy asked, coming up to stand next to Paul. “Or do you think this is just gonna really piss him off?”

  It was a thought that he hadn’t wanted to voice, but there Cy went, being the blunt weapon to his more careful approach. It was why the two of them were friends. And why he really was the only person he’d trust with this.

  “I’m pretty sure this is going to do both,” Paul said. “Look at this place.” He gestured around them. “This is his temple. As far as he’s concerned, he built this. He probably comes here to visit them regularly. You don’t bury them like this, with care, with markers, if you’re not coming to see them.”

  “You should have the sheriff do armed patrols around the perimeter, so your pack of geeks flying in don’t get picked off one by one,” Cyrus said. “He’s gonna come back here and see what you’ve done.”

  “I know,” Paul said. “We’ll make sure they’re protected.”

  “You’re gambling a lot here, Paul,” Cyrus warned. “He’s got your niece.”

  “I know that,” he said, his words coming out harsh. “You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t know what’s at stake here? But this guy . . . he’s had almost sixteen years to evolve, Cyrus. Do you know what kind of ego you’ve gotta have to take a girl and not just kill her, but keep her captive for months, maybe years? That’s a damn hard shell of confidence to penetrate. The only way he slips up is if it feels like someone’s finally pierced his shield. This . . .” He gestured to Zooey and the firefighters, who were making great time with moving the rocks off the first grave. “This is my arrow into his seemingly invincible armor. First cut’s always the deepest.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Cyrus said.

  “I’ve gotta be.”

  By the time the team of forensic techs had arrived, the sheriff and his deputies had also arrived. And Zooey had started digging. The firefighters had moved on to the second grave under Zooey’s careful instructions as the forensic techs had gathered around her, awaiting instructions.

  “Boss!”

  Paul hurried over, steeling himself when he saw Zooey had uncovered the first body. His fists clenched when he recognized Keira Rice. And his stomach churned when he saw her hair, French-braided carefully along her skull, her plaits tucked over her shoulders, tied on each end with bright yellow ribbons.


  Just like how Cass used to wear in her hair when she played softball. Down to the bows on each end.

  He was duplicating her. Because he didn’t get to kill her the way he wanted. Fuck. It was so sick. It made him want to find a tree and punch his fists raw and bloody.

  “Goddamn it,” he said. He’d hoped that maybe, Keira was alive still. Even though he knew deep down that it was unlikely.

  “She looks like she’s only been dead for days,” Zooey said. “Hey, you.” She snapped her fingers at one of the forensic techs. “Go get one of the deputies. I’m going to need a body bag and a stretcher to carry the bodies up the embankment.”

  She leaned back on her heels, staring at Keira’s body. “Poor girl,” she whispered, her eyes sad. But then she lifted them to Paul’s, her expression turning determined. “If there’s anything to find, boss, I’ll find it. We’ll bring Robin back and catch this bastard. He can outsmart a lot of things, but he can’t outsmart science.”

  “Paul!” Sheriff Alan hurried down the slope that led into the clearing, a satellite phone in his hand. “Your mama’s trying to reach you. Station says she’s been calling nonstop.”

  Paul frowned, taking the sat phone from the sheriff and hitting the receive button.

  “Mom?”

  “Paul? Oh, thank God. Where are you? I’ve been calling everywhere trying to find you.”

  “I’m at a crime scene, Mom. What’s wrong?”

  “Abby’s gone, Paul,” his mother babbled, her voice shaky. “She was looking for the dog with Jonah. Jonah’s got a concussion. He said he didn’t even see who hit him. And when he came to, she was gone. He can’t find her. I can’t find her. Everyone’s looking and no one can find her.”

  Paul’s hand clenched around the sat phone, his entire fucking world coming to a freezing stop.

  He’d taken Robin.

  And now, he’d taken Abby.

  Of course.

  He was still evolving.

  Still challenging himself.