She'll Never Tell

by Hunter Morgan

  "Is that a problem for you?" His handsome blue eyes held her gaze. "Because it's not a problem for me," he murmured.

  "Marcy."

  Phoebe's voice jarred Marcy from the trancelike state Seth had held her in. She jerked her hand from his, but not fast enough for her sister to miss it. Marcy could tell by the sparkle in her eye.

  "When you said you were going out, I didn't think you meant out out." She walked—no, slinked—up to the table in a white miniskirt and tank top, her blond hair brushing her tanned shoulders. "Phoebe Matthews," she said, offering Seth her hand.

  He rose from his chair, gawking. "Seth Watkins," he managed.

  Phoebe let him linger over her hand before withdrawing it. "I take it my sister didn't tell you there were two of us."

  "N... no." He managed a grin as he sat back down.

  "Seth is a real estate agent," Marcy explained. "I... I really hadn't gotten to talk with you about it, but I'm... I'm looking at some property."

  "Well." Phoebe turned her eyes on Seth again. "A nice-looking real estate guy like Seth, I might find myself looking into some property, too."

  "Would you like to join us?" he asked, hovering over his seat. "I could grab a chair."

  "No, no, thanks. My friends are all in the bar." She cupped her hand around her mouth and whispered to her sister, "Have you seen Ryan pass through here? He might have been with that new guy, Savage."

  "Well, I was just headed for the little girls' room." Phoebe tapped a manicured hand on the table. "You two have fun. Nice to meet you, Seth. I won't wait up, Sis," she sang as she walked away. Her tone left nothing to the imagination. She was encouraging Marcy to sleep with Seth.

  Marcy reached for her purse. "I think I should go." All she could think of was, thank goodness she'd insisted on meeting him here rather than letting him pick her up.

  "Are you feeling bad?" Seth stood up, reaching for her arm.

  "No." She shook her hands, not wanting him to touch her. "Yes, actually... a headache." Suddenly she felt overheated, overwhelmed. She pressed her thumb and forefinger to her temples, fearing that if she didn't get out of the restaurant, she was going to be sick. "Thank you so much for dinner." She walked away from the table. "I'll call you Monday."

  He put out his hand to her, but she was already out of reach. "If you wait a sec for me to pay the bill, I'll walk you to your car."

  She shook her head, hurrying through the dining room. "Talk to you tomorrow."

  * * *

  The Bloodsucker watched through the window as Marcy walked out of the restaurant, into the parking lot. The area wasn't particularly well lit, but he knew it was her. He knew the sway of her hips.

  He felt his heart skip a beat. This was a public place. Riskier than the lonely street where he had picked up Patti. And so many people had seen him here. In the bar. In the restroom. Maybe sitting in the car.

  But he wanted her.

  He licked his lips, feeling the excitement build inside him as he watched her glance up and down the row of parked cars before reaching for her car door.

  The Bloodsucker knew he had to make his decision quickly or the opportunity would be lost.

  Quick. Quick. A decision. A smart decision. Maybe being seen first was smart. Who would suspect a man who appeared openly in public at the site of the abduction? Even paid with a credit card, leaving written, easily traced proof that he'd been there?

  He pushed open the door, his gaze fixed on her.

  She had gotten into the SUV, but she hadn't started the engine yet. The automatic locks wouldn't click until she started the engine and put it in reverse. The Bloodsucker was clever. He made it his business to know these things.

  She was looking around. Looking for what? Who?

  Him?

  The Bloodsucker's breath caught in his throat in a moment of fear, and he stepped back, into the shadows of the restaurant's lobby.

  Marcy grasped the steering wheel. Reached down. The engine turned over.

  The chance was lost.

  The Bloodsucker closed his eyes, disappointed. Angry.

  He heard Granny's accusing words in his head. Stupid. Worthless. The anger boiled up into his throat, and for a moment he was afraid he was going to throw up.

  The green SUV pulled out of the parking lot, and then Marcy was gone. Gone from his grasp.

  Behind him he heard voices. Laughter. People leaving the restaurant. He walked out into the parking lot, jingling his keys in his pocket as he headed to his car.

  Someone waved as if they were his friend. "'Night."

  The Bloodsucker smiled. Waved. "Good night. Have a nice weekend." He knew no one was really his friend. He had them all deceived.

  Inside the safety of his car, he breathed a sigh of relief. He pulled out onto the street, checking his watch. It was close to eleven, and Max hadn't been fed. Poor doggie. He needed to get home, but he was feeling jittery. Marcy had left him a bundle of nerves and energy.

  On a deserted street, he passed a young woman walking a little white dog. All alone.

  A blond-haired woman.

  The Bloodsucker glanced up at the one condo on the street. Almost no lights. Most of the balconies were still boarded up. It would be July before the summer season was in full swing.

  He signaled, turned the corner, and pulled over. His heart was pounding again. Granny told him not to do it. This was impulsive. He wasn't smart enough to pull it off. He'd leave evidence. He'd get caught.

  He was smart enough. He popped open the trunk, locating latex gloves and the chloroform-soaked gauze, sealed in a baggie. With one last brilliant thought, he grabbed Max's spare leash he kept in the car. "Max," he called as he slammed the trunk and slipped the baggie into his pocket. "Max! Come, boy!"

  * * *

  April gave the leather leash a tug. "Heel, Bootsy."

  The poodle dropped back to walk beside her again, but the moment the dog heard the man's voice, she darted ahead.

  "Max! Come on, boy," a man called as he walked up the sidewalk toward her.

  April glanced around. She hadn't really been paying attention to where she was going when she'd left with the dog, using the excuse that she'd walk her. The little white mop wasn't even hers. She just needed to get out of the condo for a few minutes, away from her mother-in-law's whining. Away from her kiss-ass husband.

  "Hi," the man said, approaching.

  "Hi," April responded hesitantly. The guy looked normal enough, but who knew these days?

  "I was out walking my dog, Max, and—" He held up the leash. "I guess the snap broke or something. Did you happen to see a dog run by? So big." He gestured. "Brown and scraggly."

  She shook her head.

  "I just can't believe he took off like this," the man went on, looking up the street one way, then down the other. He really sounded upset. "I'm scared to death he's going to get hit by a car before I find him. He doesn't have much in the way of street smarts."

  Bootsy walked up to him and sniffed with interest.

  April tugged on the leash. "Boots."

  "Oh, it's okay. I love dogs." The man crouched down and petted the shitzu. She couldn't see his face very well. The street lamp was out overhead. It was still early in the season. She and her husband liked this time of year in Albany Beach before it got too busy, but everything wasn't quite up and running yet.

  As the man stood up, freeing Bootsy, he turned his head suddenly. "Did that sound like a cry to you? Like a dog hurt?"

  April listened. She hadn't heard anything. Just a car on the street behind them.

  The man turned, hurrying around the corner. "There," he called over his shoulder. "Did you hear it? There it is again."

  April hurried after him, pulling Bootsy along. It was so dark in the shadows of the condo building that she could barely see the man as he ducked around the parking garage pillar.

  "Oh, God, I hope he's not hurt," he said.

  She took another step, barely around the cement structural pillar, and felt
a hand clamp over her mouth and nose. Something rough. An unfamiliar smell. Medicinal, but sweet.

  April opened her mouth to scream, but of course she couldn't. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pinning her hands down. She was dizzy, disoriented. Suddenly nauseated. She felt the leash pull from her hand. Her vision swam. The last thing she saw was her mother-in-law's dog running through the dark parking garage, trailing her leash. Then the blackness swallowed her.

  * * *

  "Jake?"

  "Hey," he said sleepily on the other end of the line. "Marcy?"

  "I'm sorry. It's late." She perched on the side of the bed in the flimsy nightshirt she'd bought to replace the flowered tents she had once worn. She cradled the cordless phone on her shoulder. "I shouldn't have called so late."

  "No, no it's okay." He sounded more awake now. "You all right?"

  "Sure, I'm fine." She got up to pace. "I just called to... to see how the kids were."

  "Fine. Great. Asleep, I think."

  "So you went out and saw a movie?" She reached the bathroom door and turned around, going the other way.

  "Yeah, an Arnie movie. It was the only thing we could all agree on."

  She nodded. "And I guess you had dinner?"

  "And ice cream." Jake paused. "Are you sure you're okay? You don't sound... like yourself."

  She didn't tell him she didn't feel much like herself. Or that she didn't know for sure who she was anymore so she didn't know how she was supposed to feel. "I'm fine, really." She plopped down on the bed again and brushed her hair out of her eyes. "I guess I just missed the kids."

  "Phoebe there with you?"

  She glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand. It was eleven-forty. "Are you kidding, before midnight on a Friday night?"

  He laughed. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

  "You'll bring them home, right?"

  "By dinner," he agreed.

  She pressed her lips together, knowing he wanted to get off the phone, but just not quite ready to let him go. "Jake."

  "Yeah, Marcy?"

  "I... um, I've got something I want to talk to you about. You think we can get together some time in the next couple of days?"

  "You want to tell me what it's about now?"

  "Nah." She leaned back, falling onto the bed. "Not a big deal. It can wait."

  "I've got a Lions Club thing tomorrow night, and Sunday I promised my parents I'd come over. They've been bugging me for a week. The toilet in their powder room is stopped up again or something, so it will have to be Monday. Lunch?"

  "Lunch, Monday," Marcy agreed and hung up.

  Lying on her back in the bed in the dark, she held the phone to her breast. She stared up, watching the ceiling fan go around.

  She thought about her quasi date. About Seth. She knew he was attracted to her. And she certainly liked the attention. So what had spooked her tonight?

  * * *

  "Please," April whispered, fighting back another sob. She made herself relax in the chair. There was no sense fighting it She was trapped. Fighting the confines of the chair and all the tape only weakened her. Made her wrist start bleeding again. But what was she going to do? What was she going to do?

  She tried not to think of her husband, Barry. About how frantic he must be, looking for her. And her mother-in-law—this was all her fault. If Darlene hadn't started in about them moving to Orlando again, none of this would have happened.

  The man seated in front of her moved and she flinched, opening her eyes so wide that it hurt the muscles on her face. "Please don't do it again," she sobbed, fighting another round of sobbing hysterics that she knew would get her nowhere.

  He didn't say anything. He just watched her from the bench at the table, dressed in that silly plastic suit, a weird look on his face. Sick creep.

  And he seemed like such a nice man. Just a man looking for his dog. Another sob rose in her throat as she realized for the hundredth time what a terrible mistake she had made. What it would probably cost her. She hiccuped. She didn't even believe now that he had a dog. And where was Bootsy? That was what she wanted to shout at him—Where the hell is little Bootsy?

  He just kept staring at her. It was making her crazy. What did he want? He hadn't raped her, at least not when she had been awake. And if he had kidnapped her to kill her, why hadn't he just done it and gotten it over with? Maybe he was having regrets... maybe that was it.

  April took a breath, trying to calm her pounding heart. Maybe she could reason with him. Maybe he didn't really want to do this terrible thing he was doing. She made herself look right at him, try to make eye contact. "If you let me go," she whispered, "I wouldn't tell anyone. I don't know anything to tell, really." Her lower lip trembled. He was listening. Did that mean he was considering what she was saying? An inkling of hope fluttered in her chest.

  "You... you could just put me back in the trunk. Drop me off somewhere," April continued. "I wouldn't tell. I swear it."

  Now he didn't look like he was listening. He was just staring at her. At her feet.

  "Do—do you think—"

  "Please stop talking. This isn't right." He rose, throwing his arms in the air impatiently. "It isn't right. None of it is right." He waved the blade. "You're not saying any of the things you should be saying."

  Fresh tears filled her eyes. "I'm sorry," she said. "I'm sorry." He took a step toward her and she went on, faster, frantically. "T—tell me what you want me to say. Just tell me. I—I'll say it. Please."

  He took another step closer, now between her and the lamp on the table. "You would, wouldn't you?"

  She nodded rapidly. "Anything."

  "But Marcy wouldn't," the Bloodsucker snapped.

  "M... Marcy? Who... who's Marcy?" April shook her head pathetically. "I don't know Marcy."

  "Marcy's my friend." He turned his head, looking at her petite, suntanned ankles. He was bored. This wasn't the way he had meant for this to go. And now he was disappointed... unsure of what to do next. How to make it right.

  "I could be your friend," April whispered.

  He studied her for a moment. She had the blond hair. The blue eyes. It was all there. Everything he needed. He stared at the blade in his hand... at the sweet stain of red streaked across the cold metal. "No," he said after a moment. "I don't think so."

  "But I could. I swear I could," she moaned. "Please."

  His gaze fell to her ankle again. He remembered something he had seen on TV the other night. Something that had stuck in his head.

  The Bloodsucker squatted in front of the chair.

  "What are you going to do?" she screamed.

  He glanced up, impatiently. "Now, didn't I say not to raise your voice? Didn't I tell you that I didn't like that?"

  "Yes, yes," she said so quietly, so apologetically.

  She came across to him as weak. Pathetic. Just a little dull. Nothing like his vibrant, energetic Marcy.

  He drew back the scalpel and cut across her ankle, rewarding him with a fresh spew of blood.

  She screamed.

  He didn't care.

  * * *

  "I don't understand why I can't go to Atlantic City with Chain," Ashley protested angrily, hands planted on her hips, black-painted mouth drawn back in a frown. Claire looked up from her easy chair, closing the news magazine on her lap. It was Sunday night, her evening to relax. She liked to read, watch a little TV. It had been a long weekend, and she really needed some down time.

  A vacationer, April Provost, twenty-six, had disappeared from Albany Beach Friday night, and Claire was petrified what the implication might be. The husband had reported her missing around one in the morning. Claire hadn't gotten the call until six. She had interviewed the family to discover that April and her mother-in-law had had an argument prior to the young woman storming out of the condo on the pretext of taking the in-law's dog for a walk. The police had combed the area looking for the missing woman, who was a legal secretary in Pennsylvania and had only been married two years.
There hadn't been a sign of April.

  At noon on Saturday, the missing shitzu was found, leash still attached. The husband was still hoping his wife had just taken off, having had enough family vacation. April was coming up on forty-eight hours missing now, though, and as the minutes ticked by, Claire knew the chance of that kind of explanation was getting slimmer.

  Claire blinked, focusing on Ashley again. "You can't go because you're fifteen years old. That's not even old enough to gamble in New Jersey!"

  "I told you." Ashley rolled her eyes heavenward as if her mother were the most thick-headed person she had ever met. "It's not to go to a casino. It's to hear a band play."

  "In New Jersey? You can't go hear a band play in this state?"

  "Don't you listen to anything I say? Not Blood Thrill." The teenager threw up her hands in disgust.

  Tonight she was wearing long black, baggy shorts that went to her knees and a black T-shirt sporting a bony hand grasping a skull in the fingers. Her inky black hair was parted and pulled down in braids on either side of her face. Not a terribly becoming hair style, in Claire's opinion.

  "Of course, not Blood Thrill." Claire threw up her hands, imitating her daughter. "I've never even heard of this band." She dropped her hands into her lap.

  "Only because none of the band members are a hundred years old like the old farts you like." She indicated Claire's T-shirt sporting The Rolling Stones' "Forty Licks" tour.

  "Hey, Mick's not a day over ninety-five, I'll have you know."

  Ashley groaned in frustration. "Why do I even try to talk to you?"

  Claire glanced away. Obviously, joking around wasn't going to work tonight. "What about your week of restriction? You broke curfew."

  "I told you. Chain ran out of gas."

  "And I told you, you call me when something like that happens."

  "Maybe I could, if I had a cell phone like I've been asking you for, for like months." She crossed her arms over her chest triumphantly.

  Claire smiled. "Nice try. The fact is, you're still on restriction. No Chain. No concert in Jersey. No way. No how."