by Hamel, B. B.
And then I noticed it. When Laney had first started with me, I had taken some pictures of her, but those pictures were missing.
In fact, every picture of her was gone.
I went back out into the main office, my stomach filled with dread.
The file I had made on her when she had first started was also missing. I had a habit of starting a file on people, just in case I ever needed it.
All of her pictures. All of her materials. As far as I could tell, that was everything that had been taken.
Anger flooded through me, anger and worry. I quickly gathered my shit and left, shutting the door behind me but not bothering to lock it.
As I got closer to my car, I began to run, my fists clenched, my jaw tight, uneasiness filling my chest.
23
Laney
It was like floating on a cloud. Maybe that’s a cliché, but that was how I felt.
Easton had worked my body all night, worked me harder than I ever had been worked before. By the end of it, I was ready to pass out, completely spent and exhausted.
I felt great the next morning. Easton was sleeping beside me, his body taut and strong, and I couldn’t help but admire him as he slept.
Everything was such a blur. It all rushed by, faster and faster, and I had no clue where any of it was leading. We were dealing with an insane murderer, apparently hell bent on getting after Easton. And yet all I could think about was his sex, his body, his fingers, and his cock.
After he woke up, we ate breakfast. We barely saw our parents since they were leaving early and working late. It was almost as if we lived in the big house alone together and everything was ours.
It felt good to play house with him, even if it was just for a morning.
“I’ll be back in an hour or two,” he said.
“Where are you going?”
“Got to grab some things from the office.”
I nodded, stretching lazily. I was wearing only a pair of boy shorts and a tank top. “Are you sure you want to leave?”
He grinned, kissing my neck. “Not at all, but someone has to do some work.”
“Fine. Suit yourself.”
“You stay just like this. I’ll be back soon.”
“Okay.”
He kissed me quickly and then left.
The house felt huge without him around. I spent the next half hour messing around with Facebook, basically killing time. My mind kept roaming back to the way Easton made me feel, the way he worked my body, his incredible hunger for me.
Sure, he was cocky. Sure, he could be an asshole. But there was something else inside him that I was beginning to see more clearly, something special, something that I wanted to understand. He let me see glimpses, but he never fully let me in.
After another few minutes, I heard the front door open and slam shut. Smiling to myself, I opened the bedroom door.
“Easton?” I called out.
There was no response.
“Dad? Susan?”
Nothing.
Frowning, I went back into my room and put on a pair of pants and a long-sleeve T-shirt. I slipped my cell phone into my pocket and then I opened the door back up and walked softly back into the hallway, heading down the steps.
I stopped in front of the front door. It was still slightly ajar. I pushed it closed.
Who would come inside and leave the door open?
Frowning to myself, I walked toward the kitchen. “Easton?” I called out. “Where are you?” Up ahead, I heard the sound of running water.
I looked into the kitchen and frowned. The faucet was running, but nobody was in there.
I walked over to it. “Easton? You left the water running.” I turned the valve and the water stopped.
Tingles ran down my neck.
“Easton isn’t here,” a voice whispered.
I whirled around.
He was standing there, inches away from me, this sick smile on his face. His face looked familiar for some reason, but I couldn’t place it. He was young, maybe even my age.
I tried to run.
He grabbed me, throwing me back against the counter.
“Stop! Who are you?” I screamed.
“Sorry, Laney,” he said in a singsong. “You can blame your stepbrother for this.”
Dark, freezing chills settled in the pit of my stomach.
I knew it was him. I just knew. It couldn’t be anyone else.
I tried to run again, but he hit me. Stars flashed into my vision as his fist smashed into my head. I grunted and stumbled.
He laughed. Sick and loud, he laughed.
“Laney, Laney. He isn’t here, so don’t struggle.”
“He’s going to get you,” I said.
He kicked me in the stomach.
“Good,” he hissed. “I hope he finds me soon.”
The last thing I remembered was a rag being shoved against my face.
24
Easton
My tires screamed, burning rubber as I turned into the driveway of our house. I threw the car in park and jumped out, leaving it running, not thinking about anything but Laney.
My heart nearly fell from my chest when I saw the door was left standing slightly ajar.
I held my gun tightly as I pushed the door open.
“Laney?” I called out.
Only silence in response.
I moved through the house, room by room, clearing each space. With each new empty spot, the silence kept screaming back at me, louder and louder.
Finally, I collapsed onto her bed, staring down at my hands.
Laney was gone.
I pulled out my phone and called her cell. It rang and then went to voicemail. I tried it again, but this time voicemail picked up immediately.
Almost like someone had shut off her phone.
I called her father next.
“Alan?” I asked when I finally got through his secretary.
“Easton, what’s going on?”
“Have you seen Laney?”
“No. Is everything okay?”
“Yes. Just tracking her down.”
I could hear the concern in his voice. “Okay. Well, let me know if you need anything.”
“Sure,” I said and hung up.
I called Susan next, but she said the exact same thing.
I didn’t want to admit it. I didn’t want it to be true.
But the fact was, Laney was missing. She was gone. I had expressly told her not to leave the house without me for any reason, and I knew she wouldn’t do it. I knew she wasn’t dumb enough to leave the front door open.
I stood up and went into action mode. I left the house, got back into my car, and floored it toward the Sheriff’s office.
Fifteen minutes later and at least one blown red light, I parked out front and jumped out. I stormed in through the front door.
The guy sitting at the desk was a bored sergeant that would have rather been anywhere else, but he was stuck on duty. Probably the worst day possible, too, since I was on the fucking warpath.
“You,” I said to him. “Get me Sloan.”
He raised a lazy eyebrow. “Who are you, sir?”
“Easton Wright.”
“Okay. The Sheriff is busy.” He looked back down at his newspaper.
Anger boiled up through my veins. I grabbed the paper from his hands and threw it on the floor. “Listen to me, you dumb desk monkey,” I growled. “Get Sloan and get him now. My fucking sister is missing.”
Needless to say, the sergeant didn’t respond well to that. He stood up, one hand on his pepper spray, his face deadly serious. All eyes in the office were suddenly on us, and I realized that I was surrounded by fucking cops.
“Sir,” he said, “you need to calm down right now.”
“Get me Sloan, you brainless fuck. My stepsister could be dead right now. We need to find her.”
“Who took your stepsister?”
“The fucking serial killer.” I wanted to break his idiot nose, snap
his thick-headed limbs. “Get. Me. Sloan.”
The guy stared at me for a second, and I thought he was finally hearing reason. Instead, two other cops came over.
“You need to leave, sir,” the sergeant said.
“Fucking assholes.” I stepped forward and cracked the sergeant in the nose. His head snapped back and I saw blood.
I was on the ground in half a second.
I felt more than one boot hit me in the stomach as the cops piled on me.
The office was a fucking madhouse. I doubted anyone had ever had the balls to punch the desk sergeant in the face, much less break his nose. But they didn’t know me.
Soon enough, I was up on a bench, aching from a ton of different blows and in cuffs.
“You dumb fucks,” I yelled. “She could be dead right now.”
The cops just eyed me. The sergeant flipped me off, holding an ice pack to his face. His eyes were already turning black.
They held me there for fifteen agonizing minutes before Sloan finally came out of his office.
“Easton,” he said. “Come on back.”
The desk sergeant helped me up and walked me back. I gave him a big smile and he just ignored me.
“These cuffs?” I asked.
“Take them off yourself,” the sergeant said and then walked away.
I grunted and walked into Sloan’s office, sitting down in front of his desk.
Sloan stared at me, shaking his head. “You’re an idiot.”
“He has her, Sloan. He has her.”
“Slow down now. We don’t know he has anybody.”
“Can you take these cuffs off?”
“No. You punched a cop. Why didn’t you just call me?”
I shrugged. “I needed to see you now.”
“Well, here I am. You think the killer has her?”
“I know he does.”
“Tell me why.” He held up his hands as soon as he saw the frustration on my face. “Please understand me, Easton. You come in here yelling and punching people. You need to give me a reason to help you. I want to, but you seem a little unhinged.”
I took a deep breath, getting myself together. “Okay. Listen.”
And then I told him about the badge. I told him about my office being tossed over, and I told him about the missing pictures. I told him that I had made sure Laney wouldn’t leave the house, and how the front door was left ajar when I had gotten home. I told him about her phone going to voicemail.
“You have to see,” I said. “It’s all been a personal message to me. And now he took her.”
Sloan nodded slowly. “I see what you’re saying.”
“So then help.”
“Why the badge?” he asked.
“The badge? Fuck the badge, Sloan.”
He just leaned back in his chair. “The badge seems odd. How did the killer even get it?”
I narrowed my eyes. I hadn’t thought of that before. It was odd that the killer had the badge; as far as I knew, only Martin’s family had it.
The realization jolted me physically. I was suddenly both elated and incredibly sad as I realized who I was hunting and why it was all happening.
“Easton, we don’t know he has her,” Sloan was saying, but I barely heard. “She could have left on her own, decided she didn’t want to be involved with a murder investigation.”
My mind was spinning, moving through the possibilities.
“Why not tell her parents then?” I asked, halfhearted.
Sloan just shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“You’re kidding me.” I felt like I was in a nightmare.
“Sorry, kid. We need more time before we know if she’s really gone or not.”
“She’ll be dead by then.”
“I doubt it.”
I stared at him for half a minute, too surprised to feel anger. Finally, I held out my hands. Sloan sighed. “Rick,” he yelled.
The desk sergeant came in.
“Take off the cuffs,” Sloan said.
Rick walked over and unlocked the cuffs. “Asshole,” he muttered.
I smiled nicely at him and stood. “Please change your mind, Sloan. You’re going to have another body in your hands soon.”
“Maybe we will. But come back when you have something more concrete.”
I turned and left the station without looking back.
The cops had let me down. The fucking police had failed. They were too slow, too unwieldy.
But not me. I was going to find her. I wasn’t going to let some psychopath fucking hurt Laney.
I finally knew who I was hunting. The whole time it had been staring me right in the face. Someone close, but not too close. Someone that hated me personally. It was so clear it hurt.
Nobody was going to get hurt because of me ever again.
25
Laney
My head is swimming when I finally regained consciousness.
At first I thought I was blind. The room was pitch black, and it took me a second to understand that I couldn’t see because there was no light.
No light. Anywhere.
Groggy, I began to mentally check my body. I wasn’t in pain, or at least not bad pain. My whole self felt achy and my head was pounding, but it was nothing life-threatening.
I tried to move but couldn’t. I reached up with my fingers and found that I was chained, wrists together, hands above my head. My back was leaning up against a cold wall, maybe stone, but I wasn’t sure.
I tried to call out, but nothing came. My voice was a scratchy croak, barely a whisper, certainly not my own.
The fear hadn’t hit me yet, fortunately. I was still thinking very analytically, very seriously. I couldn’t see and my hands were chained, but my legs felt like they were free. I tried shifting my weight and pushing my legs forward, but they hit what felt like metal bars only a foot away.
So I was in some kind of cage, chained to a wall.
The fear came then, fast and heavy.
The killer had me. I’d gotten a glimpse of his face, but he’d hit me hard enough to knock me over. I thought I recognized him, but he was young, so young. I began to struggle, trying to wrench my arms free, but the cuffs bit into my wrists and held me tight.
I made some noise but didn’t move an inch.
What was happening? Why wasn’t I dead yet like all the other girls? I still had my fingers, which was good.
When did he take them?
I tried to make more noise and only succeeded in rattling the chains and kicking the cage. Otherwise, there was total silence all around me.
Easton. Did he know where I was? I shifted my weight but couldn’t feel my phone anymore. It had been in my pocket, but clearly the killer had taken it.
I felt the fear and panic well up through my chest and wash over me. I wanted to scream but couldn’t, and I knew that it wouldn’t help. I had to trust that Easton would know what to do.
Easton was still out there. He knew I was home, and he knew the killer was coming after him. Easton would come for me.
He had to come for me.
I didn’t know how long I was left down there. I could smell something musty and damp, and so I figured I was in a basement. But without light or sound, I was completely lost, floating in space.
Hours passed, maybe minutes, maybe days. I fell asleep at one point and woke up with a start, dreams of fingerless people parading through my mind. I kept telling myself that Easton was coming, he would come, but the fear was almost too much.
And then suddenly, light.
I squinted, surprised at the harsh brightness. I heard someone descending stairs. The original light disappeared, replaced by a single, dimmer source.
It came toward me, illuminating the space.
I was in a basement, that was for sure. Junk was piled up all around. Rotting wood, cinderblocks, mossy stone, and more. I was in a cage with my back up against a concrete wall, my chains attached to a ring a few feet above my head, outside the cage’s roof.
“Hi, Laney.”
The voice cut through my mind.
“Where am I?” I tried to say, but it came out a raspy wisp instead.
The light crouched down in front of me, and I finally figured out what it was.
A single gas lantern.
Held by a young man, almost handsome. His hair was dark, and he looked so damn familiar. I squinted at him, trying to understand, but my mind was a mess.
“Here,” he said, opening my cage. “Drink.”
He reached in and held out a water bottle. I didn’t want to, but my body needed the water. I drank it greedily.
“There you go.” He stopped and pulled it away. Water dribbled down my shirt. “Better. Can you talk?”
I tried again. “Where am I?”
“Good.” He smiled. “You’re in my basement, Laney.”
“Who are you?”
His smile got larger. “Ah, there’s the big question. Haven’t you figured it out? Or is Easton not the golden boy we all thought he was?”
I shook my head. I had no clue who he was, although he looked familiar. So damn familiar. Like a young version of a picture I’d seen a hundred times.
He leaned forward, smiling. “Come on, Laney, say it.”
“Jean Rodriguez,” I blurted out as it hit me all at once.
“Very good!” he said, clapping his hands.
Jean Rodriguez, Martin Rodriguez’s son. Easton’s partner’s son. He was nineteen, maybe twenty, just a year or two younger than me.
I shook my head, unable to believe it. Why would Jean be killing people? His father hated killers, had spent his whole life hunting them down and locking them up. And now Jean had become the monster his father had so hated.
“Surprised?” he asked. “I’m sure that you are.”
“Why?” I croaked.
“Why,” he said softly, “is a good question.” He sat down cross-legged and looked at me intently. “It’s very simple actually. Do you really want to know?”
“Yes,” I said, although part of me didn’t.
