LUCY: The Complete Lucy Kendall Series with Bonus Content (The Lucy Kendall Series Book 5)

by Stacy Green

  I held up my hands, backing out of Mary’s reach, and laid both guns on the pavement. The SRT surrounded us, weapons still raised.

  “I’m Lucy Kendall,” I said, keeping my hands raised. “Mary Weston called me in my motel room. She claimed to have a woman in the back of her car. I had my friend call Agent Lennox, and I came out to stall Mary. She was going to shoot me.”

  One of the SRT members knelt over Mary, applying pressure to the wound. “It looks like she mostly hit flesh.”

  “I just wanted her to drop the gun.”

  The SRT officer in charge retrieved the guns. “Our orders are to take you back to our command vehicle to wait for Agent Lennox. He’s en route.”

  “As long as there’s heat, I’m good.”

  Lennox arrived forty-five minutes later, long after I’d called Kelly to tell her it was over and Mary had been taken to the hospital. He stalked out of his SUV, his coat trailing behind him. He yanked open the door to the SRT’s truck and glared at me.

  “You shot her.”

  “I had to,” I said. “She was going to shoot me and then take me with her. How’s Beth Ried?”

  “Shaken the hell up,” Lennox said. “She told the responding officer Mary caught up with her outside of town, where the she had pulled over and was making notes. She’d just been told by her source in Jarrettsville that we’d got a lead in Oxford.”

  “Chief Deputy Frost.”

  “She won’t say,” Lennox said. “I’ll get it out of her, though. Why’d Mary come after you?”

  “She blamed me for taking Chris away from her,” I said. “She thought he could be trained as a new partner, but apparently I instilled too much hope in him.” That version would suffice. Mary would never talk to the police, and if she did, she didn’t have enough on me to cause many waves. “I’m sorry.”

  He cocked his head. “For shooting her? It’s all right. She’s alive, and we got her, thanks to you.”

  “For your missing the look on her face when she went down.” I smiled at the memory of her eyes widening in shock, the perfect ‘o’ of her mouth, and the way her body rocked backward at the impact. “It was priceless.”

  He groaned. “I suppose you earned it. You think she’ll tell me much?”

  “I don’t know. She did say her dad raped and murdered a girl in his truck’s sleeper when she was just six. She thought it was normal. He’s her hero. Her weak spot.”

  “Good to know.” He glanced over his shoulder at his SUV. “You know what’s interesting?”

  Exhaustion threatened to take over. I blinked and focused on Lennox. “What?”

  “You shot Mary in the left arm because she held the gun with it.”

  “Right.”

  He studied his manicured nails. “The medical examiner believes Lionel Kent was shot by someone right-handed. From the looks of it, that’s not Mary’s better hand.”

  Anxiety fluttered through me, but I couldn’t quite make the connection. “Her father must have been right handed.”

  “I don’t know about that,” Lennox said. “But he must have had a rush of energy.”

  Now everything snapped together, his unspoken accusation making my stomach sour. “It happens.” Honestly, I didn’t want to know the truth. In the last hours, something had shifted within me, as if my internal wick that burned for justice had been extinguished.

  “You want to go with me to interview her?” Lennox let the subject drop.

  “Thanks, but no. I want to get some rest and then get back to Philadelphia. And I think my days as a private investigator are over.”

  Lennox raised his eyebrow. “The National Center for Missing and Exploited Children?”

  I started to ask how he knew, but then I realized. “Todd told you. I’m thinking about it. I’m not sure yet. But I need to do something different.”

  “If you decide to pursue it, let me know. I’ll put in a good word.”

  I didn’t know what to say, so I nodded. “I’ll let you know.”

  He held out his hand. “Thanks for your help.”

  I shook it, feeling completely out of place. “Thanks for trusting me tonight.”

  “I didn’t have much choice.” He grinned. “I was afraid she’d end up dead.”

  “But you never worried about me?”

  Lennox laughed, squinting against the rising sun. “Girl, I was never worried about your safety. The only person who can take you down is you. And that’s something you’ll have to decide for yourself.” He squeezed my shoulder. “I’ll see you around. Or maybe not. As long as no more Preachers turn up, I think you’ll be just fine.”

  I watched him drive away, sitting motionless. He’d basically given me a free pass to start over. I wasn’t going to get another one. Somehow, I needed to find the strength to take it.

  41

  Two Weeks Later

  “You’re leaving.” Chris stared at me from the comfortable confines of his couch. His shoulder was still bandaged, his skin still yellowed with bruises. He’d been home from the hospital for a week, and I hadn’t been able to muster the courage to go see him.

  “The National Center for Missing and Exploited Children offered me a position as a case analyst,” I said. “I’ll be working with law enforcement to provide them the information they need to track down child sex offenders.”

  He looked at me with haunted eyes. “In D.C.”

  “That’s right.”

  Agent Lennox had come through with his recommendation. I’d taken the offer without any preamble because I’d promised Kelly I would. For now, her faith in me would have to be enough to push me forward.

  “What about us?” Chris said.

  I tried to make my smile gentle. “There is no us. We’re friends, I guess. Despite the way you went about it, I think I understand. But I need some space. And I need to start fresh.”

  “You think that’s possible?” His dark laugh erupted from the pit of his belly. “That you can just forget who you are?”

  “I don’t know. But I have to try. And so should you.”

  Mary wasn’t talking, as we’d expected. She’d gone into a fury when Lennox brought up her father, rambling on about what a great man he was. But she never broke. So far, Lennox hadn’t gotten the information he needed for the families. But he wasn’t giving up.

  “I don’t know how to do that,” Chris said.

  “No one really does. I think you just have to put one foot in front of the other and take it day by day.” I moved for the door, but he pushed himself off the couch, his hand closing around my arm.

  “What did you mean by space?”

  This was the part I’d dreaded. I felt like a jerk, but I also knew I fulfilled my end of the bargain. I’d done right by Chris. “I mean I won’t be seeing you for a while. I need to put your mother and everything that happened between you and me in the past, and I can’t do that if we’re still communicating.” His expression sagged into heartbreak. “I’ll check in with you from time to time, see how you’re doing. I hope you keep up with the counseling with your aunt and uncle. That’s your best hope.”

  “But you understand me,” he said throatily. A chill ran through me. His mother had said the very same thing. “I need you.”

  I pulled away. “You need to understand yourself first. Both of us do. And we have to do that separately.” I reached the door, surprised by how much I just wanted to get away from him and everything he represented. “Take care of yourself.”

  The left side of his mouth twisted up into a sad smile. “You too. I hope that one day you can accept who you are and be proud of it. Wouldn’t it be better if you could just show it to the world?”

  I shivered, the memory of Mary’s voice staining my thoughts. “Thanks. I’ll let you know when I’m settled in D.C.”

  “Please do.” I left then, needing to get away from the suffocating sadness rolling off of Chris. I’d like to say I felt lighter as I left his building, as if the act represented cutting the ties to my ol
d life. But I wasn’t that naïve. Those ties would always drag behind me. Every day would be a struggle to leave them alone. But I’d promised Kelly–and myself–that I would try.

  My hand drifted to my coat pocket, where I’d stuffed the package that had arrived just before I left for Chris’s. Surely it was some sort of joke, a needle from Beth Ried, who could have heard about the spoons from Deputy Frost.

  The wind lapped at my face, but the bitterness of winter had eased over the last week. Spring circled the city, changing the very density of the air and lifting everyone’s mood. I couldn’t enjoy the sweetness right now. My mind was too focused on the small set of silver measuring spoons that had been delivered to my apartment this morning.

  They were sterling silver, heavy and gleaming, with a delicate scroll pattern in each spoon. A crimson ribbon held them together.

  A lousy joke on the reporter’s part. Mary used wooden spoons. And these were just lovely, too small to be any sort of weapon.

  That didn’t stop the dagger of anxiety in my side. The spoons were probably antiques. They might be evidence. I should call Todd or even Lennox. But that meant I’d be sucked back into my old story, and all I wanted to do was move forward.

  A flash of color caught my eye. Blooming purple monkshood preened in the window of the corner flower shop. Too bad they were poisonous to cats. My place needed brightening up in the worst way. Orchids, maybe. Mousecop would be safe with those.

  I turned the package over in my hands and thought about new starts and old wounds. About how sometimes we can’t possibly know the darkness inside of people, no matter how much we care about them or how much we think we know. How the chains of the past weigh down the future, if we let them.

  I took a deep breath, tossing the silver spoons in the trashcan and entered the flower shop.

  All Fall Down

  A Novel

  Stacy Green

  Ring around the rosy

  Lucy thinks she’s home free

  “Ashes, Ashes”

  She’s going to fall down.

  Unknown

  He still couldn’t believe it had come to this. Best laid plans, he supposed. He’d prefer things to be less messy. Messiness could lead to mistakes. And he didn’t make those.

  Lucy made more than he thought possible.

  The girl tied up in his back seat whimpered.

  He’d never minded the dark. It soothed him, even as a child. While most kids were afraid of the dark, he thrived in it. Nighttime brought everything in his world to life. That’s when the girls got what they deserved.

  Some of them practically begged for punishment with their tight tops and short shorts and smart mouths. Their defiance had always amazed him. Didn’t they understand their purpose?

  But their struggle only increased the fun. He shouldn’t complain.

  “Please.” The girl resorted to begging yet again. It bored him. “Just let me go. I won’t fight. I won’t tell anyone.”

  That’s what they all said. Not a single one meant it. And he didn’t care if they did.

  The alarm on his watch alerted him the time had come. He’d scouted the area in advance to find out the best time to slip in and create his message. It had come.

  He exited the car and inhaled, taking in the rich scent of the pre-dawn: freshly mowed grass with a coating of dew, accompanied by the heady scent of wildflowers. The sky still appeared black, but the eastern horizon grew lighter by the second. No more time to waste.

  He opened the back door. “Get out.”

  The girl jerked as if he’d shocked her. Perhaps he should have brought the Taser. Seeing her writhe in agony certainly would have been entertaining. “I can’t see.”

  “Use your senses.” He leaned down until his lips almost touched her ear. She smelled like sweat and of the dark, molded place where he’d kept her prisoner. “It’s only common sense. Move your feet and step out of the car.”

  She did as told, flopping about ungracefully. Dark roots had begun to invade the pretty blonde dye job he’d given her. Her days in solitary confinement with so little room to move had turned her muscled legs to sluggish stumps. She nearly fell flat on her face before he grabbed her arm and steadied her. She trembled at the contact.

  He smiled. “You should always be aware of your surroundings. A girl with your background should have known that.”

  “I thought I could trust you.” Her voice cracked. The lack of sun had turned her skin pasty. Her lips, raw from days of chewing, looked as though a dog had mauled them. The yellowing bruise beneath her eye reminded him of a dagger slashing toward her mouth. Fresh bruising painted her throat. All together quite a colorful canvas.

  “You shouldn’t trust anyone. First rule of life.” He took her forearm and began to lead her toward the building. She dragged her feet, breathing heavily. Her lack of energy annoyed him. He should have fed her more last night. If she didn’t fight, he wouldn’t have as much fun. “If you take no other lesson from this, remember that.”

  She looked in the direction of his voice, her breath quickening. “So you aren’t going to kill me?”

  They’d reached the door. Painted a fading red, it listed awkwardly to the right, as if it had come to the end of its own life.

  “Oh, I’m going to kill you,” he said. “But what’s the point of any experience if we can’t learn from it?”

  Her body turned liquid, her bruised chin dropping to her chest. A great, silent shudder tore from her starving frame.

  He dug two fingers into the tender space beneath her chin and forced her to raise her head. “Don’t give up on me now. At least act like you give a damn about your life.”

  Her rapid breathing told him she was at least making the effort. He’d give her a point for that. Shoving her inside the building, he took a long, careful glance before shutting the door and then securing the lock.

  He found the light easily and flipped the switch. Puny track lighting–half of it burned out–streamed over them. Barely enough light to work in.

  The foolish girl stood in the middle of the room, cradling her thin right arm. She’d stupidly dislocated her shoulder on their first encounter. Truthfully, given all she’d been through in her life, he’d expected better.

  “What happens now?” Her voice fell flat against the grainy tile floor. She kept moving her head, as if she thought he was circling her.

  “Now we begin.” He took one long stride and slammed his fist into her jaw. The disconnecting crack struck his system like a shot of adrenaline. She hit the floor hard, mewling and begging.

  “Much better.” He jammed his booted foot onto her fragile chest and pulled the razor blade out of his pocket.

  Lucy wouldn’t ignore this.

  Her pathetic guilt would kick in, and she’d vow for justice. That ridiculous notion would be her downfall.

  If she’d only used her head, things wouldn’t have to get nasty.

  But she’d dug her own grave.

  Lucy Kendall would have to decide if she wanted to be buried with the rest of the discarded trash or rise from the ashes like the phoenix he still believed she could be.

  1

  Thursday, July 9th, 10:00 a.m.

  The crimson blood oozed from the tender flesh on my index finger, the first droplet just a tiny globule. A second drop, this one the size of a pearl, was quickly followed by a bubble large enough to splash to the floor. Vaguely aware of the pain, I grabbed a tissue from the box off my desk and wrapped it around the wound. My eyes remained focused on the small box in my lap, the paper–and the reason for my cut–discarded on the floor.

  Nothing special about the box: a garden-variety, square, blue velvet thing used by just about every jewelry store in the country. The contents were far more interesting, and I couldn’t decide if I felt more fear or curiosity. Two silver dollar coins emblazoned with the image of Lady Liberty standing tall rested inside. I knew enough history to know the “Ellis Island” and the issue year of 1986 made these centenni
al coins celebratory trinkets for the Statue of Liberty’s 100th birthday. My fingers hovered over the coins. If I touched them, I couldn’t ignore their existence. I’d have to think about the fact these were the second gift of silver I’d received in the last few months. The set of spoons most likely rested in the Philadelphia landfill.

  How had these found me all the way in Alexandria, Virginia?

  I snapped the lid back on the box and reached for the brown shipping paper. The paper cut no longer bled, the tissue still clinging to the moisture. No return address.

  Postmarked in Washington, D.C.

  The shudder tore through me without warning, a rapid sensation I’d only experienced during the worst times in my life–the same warning system that alerted me to something being terribly wrong in the house the day I found my sister’s dead body. I stuffed the box in my purse and locked it in my desk drawer. The third-floor conference room was just around the corner from my desk, but as I was already late, I practically ran down the hall.

  Washington, D.C. Metropolitan sex crimes investigator Erin Prince had already made herself comfortable in one of the chairs in front of the large, third-floor window overlooking the street. An untouched Styrofoam cup of coffee sat on the table in front of her. Her cropped nails tapped on the table, offbeat with her bouncing foot. Prince was one of a handful of Metro’s female investigators and a valuable asset to us. I’d worked with her on two cases since my arrival in Alexandria, and her ability to both compartmentalize the things she saw, as well as communicate with our victims, impressed me.

  My main priority as a case manager for the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children–NCMEC to all of us–was acting as a liaison between the family of the missing child and everyone else involved in the case. This meant one voice for the family to trust and one person for law enforcement to work with. As the single point of contact, I had to make sure our resources were being fully instituted in the search for a critically endangered child. Surprisingly, I loved the job. Every day, I had renewed hope I could start over. But my current case was tantalizingly up my shadowy alley.