Finally, the woman tore her gaze from the loggia and gliding toward the back wall, disappeared through the archway.
A few moments later, the murmur of voices drifted through the opening, but Carrie couldn’t make out the conversation. She had the impression they were speaking Spanish and wondered if Alma had gone to meet the elusive Carlos Lazario.
She didn’t hang around to find out. Dashing across the courtyard, she let herself into Tia’s apartment and locked the door behind her.
I STOOD AT THE FOOT of the bed and watched her sleep. She stirred restlessly, turning her head from side to side on the pillow as if in the throes of some terrible nightmare. Or as if on some level she intuited my presence.
Breathlessly, I waited for her to open her eyes and see me, but she didn’t wake up. I remained safe. For now.
But her nearness excited me, and after a while, I began to fantasize about how I would kill her. It would be so easy to do it while she slept. I could press a pillow to her face or plunge a knife deep, deep into that throbbing heart….
I did neither.
She remained safe. For now.
I watched her for a few minutes longer, then turned and made my way out of the apartment the same way I’d come in.
ON SOME LEVEL, Carrie knew that she was dreaming, but she couldn’t force herself to wake up, even when she felt that terrible presence staring down at her. She was trapped in a nightmare, trapped in the past and no matter how hard she fought her way to the surface, the darkness kept pulling her back under.
She was twelve years old again and back in that terrible place. She could feel the shadows closing in on her, and the smells…dear God, those horrible smells…
SOBBING, TIA CLUNG to her in terror. Carrie tried her best to soothe her. “We’ll find a way out of here. Don’t be scared, okay?”
“Don’t leave me here, Carrie. Please, please don’t leave me.”
“I won’t leave you. I swear I won’t.”
But in spite of her brave words, Carrie had no idea how she would get them out of that place alive.
Why, oh why, had she talked Tia into leaving the campgrounds with her? Why had she insisted that they stop and talk to a stranger?
But the young man in the van hadn’t exactly been a stranger. He worked for one of the venders who brought supplies to the camp several times a week. Carrie and the other girls had seen him unloading the trucks and thought he was cute. They’d all giggled and whispered when he smiled back at them, and Carrie had been flattered when he singled her out with a wink.
And then when he stopped his van to offer her and Tia a ride back to camp, Carrie had wanted to accept because she knew it would make the other girls jealous.
Tia had balked, though, and that’s when the man got really angry at them. He jumped out of the van and grabbed Tia by the hair. Jerking her head back, he thrust a knife under her throat and warned Carrie to do as he said or he’d kill Tia and make her watch.
So Carrie did as he told her. She climbed into the back of the van, and he shoved Tia in behind her. He bound their hands and feet with duct tape, then locked them in and drove for what seemed like hours.
By the time they stopped moving, it was dark outside. He opened the back doors of the van and cut the tape from around their ankles, then ordered them to get out.
As Carrie struggled to her feet, she glanced around helplessly. They were somewhere in the woods, but she had no idea which way the camp lay.
And anyway they’d driven for hours. They had to be miles away from where they’d set out. Even if she and Tia managed to get away, where would they run to?
Forcing them inside a tumbledown cabin, he locked them in a dark room that reeked of urine, sweat and other scents Carrie didn’t dare name. She knew instinctively that they were not the first girls he’d brought there, and she wondered desperately if any of the others had managed to get away.
A filthy mattress had been thrown on the floor, and after a while, Tia curled up and fell asleep. Carrie was exhausted, too, but she didn’t dare sleep. She had no idea when the man would come back. She had to use this time to find a way out.
The door was bolted from the outside and solid enough that she couldn’t budge it. The only window in the room was covered with a wire mesh screen that was screwed into the walls. Some of the glass panes were broken out, and she could hear animal noises from the woods. The eerie night sounds made her yearn for home. For her mother’s arms tightly around her and her father’s gruff voice assuring her that she was safe.
But her parents weren’t even in the country. Her mother had accompanied her father on one of his business trips while Carrie was away at summer camp. Even if she could find her way home, no one would be there.
They’d be back soon, though. When they heard that Carrie was missing, they’d rush home, but it might be too late. Carrie might never see them again.
She brushed tears from her face and tried to concentrate on searching the room for a way out or even a weapon. She was smart. She could do anything she set her mind to. Everyone said so. She could find a way out of here if she kept looking….
Footsteps!
He was coming back!
Carrie scrambled back over to the mattress and lay down next to Tia just as the door flew open. She squeezed her eyes closed and pretended to sleep, but she could feel him standing at the foot of the mattress, staring down at them.
Slowly she opened her eyes. She couldn’t help herself. He’d taken off his shirt, and in the moonlight that filtered in through the broken window, she could see clearly the large tattoo on his chest. It looked like some kind of demon or monster.
A scream rose to her throat, but Carrie knew instinctively that was what he wanted so she bit down on her tongue and remained silent.
But as she stared up at him, that terrible image on his chest somehow became more real to her than the man’s flesh-and-blood face. His features were diminished by moonlight, but that monstrous face seemed to come alive. Carrie couldn’t look away. It was the monster who laughed at her fear. The monster who grabbed Tia and hauled her to her feet.
“Don’t!” Carrie screamed. “Please don’t hurt her!”
But he only laughed harder as he dragged Tia toward the door. “Don’t you worry,” he said in a raspy voice that sent chills down Carrie’s spine. “I’ve had my eye on you ever since you got to camp. Your name’s Carrie, right?”
When she said nothing, he grinned and pulled Tia back against his chest. Her eyes went wide with terror as he pulled out the knife.
“Please,” Carrie begged. “Let her go.”
“Now don’t you worry,” he taunted. “You’ll have your turn soon enough.” His tongue flicked out and he licked the side of Tia’s face. She started to whimper as her eyes pleaded for help.
Carrie took a step toward them, but the man made a sawing motion with the knife across Tia’s throat and Carrie froze.
“Just relax,” he said with a grin. “I’ll be back for you in a little while. I always did like saving the best for last.”
He turned then and shoved Tia out the door. She landed hard on her knees and cried out. Carrie sprang toward the door, but the sight of his naked back stopped her cold. Giant, coiled horns were tattooed on his shoulders.
Horns that belonged to the monster on his chest…
Carrie had never seen anything so terrifying in her life, and she couldn’t hide the sound of horror that slipped through her lips.
Slowly he turned to face her. “What’s the matter? You scared, Carrie?” He ran the knife blade down his chest, bisecting the monster’s face with a long, thin cut.
As the blood trickled from the wound, he lifted a hand and smeared it across his face, then sucked his fingers. And all the while, he never took his eyes off Carrie. They seemed to glow now just like the monster’s, and she shrank back from him.
He laughed again. “Well, you better be scared, little girl. You have no idea….”
Chapter Six
Carrie came awake with a start. She bolted upright in bed, her hand at her throat as her heart pounded in terror. For a moment, she thought she was still back in that locked room, but as the fog of sleep cleared, she realized it was just the old nightmare coming back to haunt her. She hadn’t had a dream that real in years.
Collapsing against the pillow, she placed her hand on her chest and tried to calm her racing heart. She didn’t want to dwell on the images the dream had awakened. She’d put them behind her a long time ago. Monsters and demons didn’t exist. Not the kind that had been tattooed on her captor’s chest anyway. He hadn’t been possessed. He hadn’t had special powers. He’d been nothing more than a sick, perverted man who preyed on young girls.
The graves the police had found underneath his cabin proved how sick he truly was. Carrie and Tia had been lucky, one of the federal agents had told her. They could have simply disappeared and never been heard from again…like all those others.
Agent McDougal had been wrong, though. Carrie had been lucky, but Tia…
Carrie squeezed her eyes closed. If she let herself, she could still hear her friend’s screams.
But she’d become very good at blocking them out…just as she had on that night fourteen years ago.
Trembling, she pulled the covers up to her chin and lay with her eyes wide-open. She wouldn’t think about the dream. She wouldn’t think about the past. She wouldn’t even think about Tia.
Instead, she lay on her back and stared up at the ceiling, focusing all of her attention on the patterns made by the lightning. She could still hear thunder, but it sounded a long way off, and she realized the storm had already passed over. She’d slept through most of it.
After a while, her eyes began to droop, but she promised herself she wouldn’t fall back asleep. She wouldn’t take a chance on her subconscious dredging up more memories. But the harder she fought it, the heavier her lids became.
Finally, as gray light began to filter into the room, Carrie closed her eyes and slept. She dreamed again. When she awakened to sunlight streaming in through the window, she realized that the images still fresh on her mind were not the demons from her past, but of Nick Draco.
She’d been dreaming about him when she woke up. He’d stood at the foot of her bed gazing down at her. Those steely eyes had beckoned to her and almost against Carrie’s will, she reached for him.
Then she’d seen the tattoo on his left shoulder. In her dream, the strange symbol had writhed and twisted, re-forming itself into something with red, glowing eyes that mesmerized her. Carrie couldn’t move. She couldn’t even scream. She was powerless against those eyes….
Then somehow he was in bed with her, moving over her, and as Carrie looked up, she saw that it was his eyes that were glowing, his eyes that were hypnotic, his eyes that left her powerless….
She blinked, trying to banish the remnants of both dreams as she swung her legs over the side of the bed and headed for the shower. She refused to think about Nick Draco in a sexual way. The man was a stranger and a dangerous one for all she knew. She might have no control over her dreams, but she could certainly corral her waking thoughts from straying in his direction.
Although that might not be so easy since she’d agreed to let him show her around the island this morning. He’d probably be along at any moment, and Carrie intended to be fully dressed when he showed up.
Climbing out of the shower a few minutes later, she hurriedly dried off and pulled on the spare jeans and T-shirt she’d brought with her from the mainland. Then she went out to the kitchen to scrounge for something to eat.
She’d discovered last night when she put away the supplies Nick brought over that Tia had left a fairly well-stocked refrigerator and pantry, which only strengthened her belief that her friend had not meant to leave for an extended time. Why would she stock up on supplies if she hadn’t planned on coming back soon?
Grabbing an apple, Carrie walked over to the window and raised the shades to allow in the light. She was shocked to see the dilapidated state of the house and courtyard in the harsh glare of sunlight. Yesterday, by sunset, the flaws had been camouflaged, but now Carrie realized that the place was in much worse shape than she’d originally thought.
But even the crumbling walls and overgrown gardens couldn’t completely hide the graceful lines and stately elegance. She could easily imagine how the estate must have looked when Andres Santiago had first built it.
And what an undertaking that must have been, ferrying supplies, men and equipment back and forth from the mainland. Construction would have taken months, perhaps years, but when it was completed, Santiago had created a magnificent domain far from the prying eyes of civilization. And the authorities.
As Carrie’s gaze lifted to the roof, she saw that Nick was already hard at work replacing some of the damaged tiles. He was shirtless once again, his skin gleaming and bronzed in the sunlight.
And she was instantly reminded of the way he’d looked in her dream. Of the way she’d reacted to him.
She watched him for a moment longer, admiring his grace and agility as he moved about the sloping roof with little regard for his safety. Then with a resolute sigh, she turned and walked away from the window.
Paging through the articles that she’d found last night, she decided that it would probably be a good idea to read every single one of them. She might find something that would at least give her a clue as to Tia’s state of mind. It was a long shot, of course, but she had to start somewhere.
She sat down and was soon engrossed in the articles. The more she read about the island, the more fascinated she became with its history. Cape Diablo had a long tradition of violence, first as a hideaway for pirates and then as a base for Andres Santiago’s smuggling operation.
She remembered the theories Robert Cochburn had said his father formulated after the family’s disappearance. Either someone who’d crossed paths with Andres had come looking for revenge or the rebels that overthrew Medina’s father wanted to make sure that she never returned to her homeland.
Carrie wondered if there might be another possibility. What if Andres had killed his family, buried them somewhere on the island, and then fled in the middle of the night? What better way to disappear than to make the authorities believe that you were dead?
The only thing Carrie knew about Andres was that he had apparently operated with autonomy outside the law. She had a hard time believing that such a man could have cared deeply for his family. He’d isolated them on this island and left them vulnerable to his enemies. They’d been completely at his mercy, and it was hard for Carrie to imagine a man like that being a good husband and father.
But a murderer?
She could certainly believe it of Trey Hollinger. Why not Andres Santiago? Who knew what had happened that night thirty years ago? The only survivors were Alma Garcia and Carlos Lazario, and if they hadn’t spoken up by now, they would probably both carry whatever secrets they harbored to their graves.
Even as caught up as Tia had apparently become in the Santiago mystery, it was unlikely she’d stumbled across something that had put her life at risk. If the authorities hadn’t solved the case in thirty years, how realistic was it that an amateur sleuth had uncovered new evidence?
Carrie started to return the clippings to the drawer when she realized that one of them must have fallen out of the folder the night before. It was lying faceup on the bottom of the drawer, and as she reached for it, she scanned the headline: Child Molester Freed From Prison; Conviction Overturned on Technicality.
Carrie dropped the paper on the desk as if it were in flames.
It was just a newspaper article, she told herself desperately. It couldn’t mean… It just wasn’t possible…
Their tormentor was long dead by now.
Or incarcerated for another crime.
How many times had she told herself that? How many times had she tried to convince herself that if he was in some prison, he’d never get out?
But what if he had?
Carrie forced herself to pick up the article and study the accompanying photograph. The man’s name was Adam Pritchard. It didn’t ring any bells, but there was no reason why it should. The kidnapper had gone by the name of Nathaniel Glover, but the authorities had learned that he’d used a fake ID to get the job at the camp. No one knew who he really was.
He’d probably stumbled across the dilapidated cabin by accident and used it as his lair. The owner of the property had told the police he hadn’t been out there in years and since it was located miles from the main road, Glover had been able to come and go as he pleased without arousing suspicion.
And that far off the beaten trail, no one had heard the screams.
Carrie waited for the shock of recognition to hit, but she felt nothing. The man in the photograph didn’t match her memory of their abductor. The bald-headed, muscular inmate bore little resemblance to the tall, lanky young man who’d charmed a bunch of bored twelve-year-old girls at summer camp.
But fourteen years was a long time. Assuming he’d been in his midtwenties at the time of the abduction, he’d be nearing forty now. And according to the article, he’d served time in a Florida state prison for the past ten years. A decade of incarceration would change a man. From everything Carrie had read, child molesters received brutal treatment in prison.
Could he be the same man?
Tia must have thought so. Why else would she have printed the article? Why bring it with her to Cape Diablo unless it held some significance?
But how had she come across it in the first place? Did she scour the Internet on a regular basis for some clue as to their abductor’s identity and whereabouts?
Somehow the thought of that chilled Carrie to the bone. She wanted to believe that both she and Tia had moved on, but who was she kidding?
The abduction would always be with them. It had shaped their lives and made them who they were. There was no getting away from that summer no matter how hard they tried. No matter how many demons they faced down.
Secrets of His Own Page 7
