Don't Breathe: A Gripping Serial Killer Thriller (Darkwater Cove Psychological Thriller Book 6)

by Dan Padavona

  “Look at the bedroom window,” Ketchum says, pointing.

  The window stands open a crack. Normally, Darcy wouldn’t give the window a second glance. Now that the nights are less stifling, many people let the air inside after sunset. But it’s the screen that draws her attention. It stands ajar. How did Pinder miss it? Darcy shifts her attention to the porch.

  “He could have stood on the chair, lifted himself onto the porch roof, and climbed through the window. Provided she left the pane open, all he needed to do was knock the screen out.”

  At the front door, Ketchum inserts the key he received from the Smith Town PD. They step inside and flip the lights on.

  “No broken glass or toppled furniture,” Darcy says, drawing a nod from Ketchum.

  “Doesn’t appear there was a struggle.”

  “So he broke inside the house, waited for the right time, then injected Haynes when she didn’t see him coming. You smell something?”

  Ketchum sniffs the air.

  “Pinder noted in his report that Haynes left dinner on the kitchen table.”

  They track from the living room to the kitchen, turning on more lights as they go. A half-eaten chicken thigh lies on a plate beside Thanksgiving fixings. The killer interrupted Haynes during dinner yesterday.

  “I want her cell phone records,” Darcy says. “I’ll wager anything she received the same hangup calls.”

  “Already in motion. I’m waiting for the tech team to call.”

  “Pinder should have requested the records as soon as Haynes went missing.”

  “Sure, if he took the matter seriously and wasn’t protecting Kealan Hart.”

  As Darcy searches the upstairs, opening doors and peeking inside bedrooms, Ketchum guards her back. Even with the lights on, Darcy jumps at shadows. She senses someone watching her. Like the living room, the bedroom and spare room show no signs of a fight. Only the crooked screen in the teacher’s bedroom points toward a break in. Darcy examines the night stand, the lamps. Did the killer touch anything?

  “CSI needs to dust the room for prints,” she says as Ketchum lifts his phone. “Have them check the sill beside Haynes’s bed. That’s the window he entered through.”

  While Ketchum speaks with an officer, Darcy retraces her steps down the stairs and searches for a hiding spot. The killer watched Haynes while she cooked and ate her dinner, waiting to get the jump on her. A broom closet stands in the corner between the kitchen and living room. Pulling it open, Darcy enters the closet and closes the door. She feels the darkness envelope her body as Ketchum’s voice echoes upstairs. Staring between the door and the jamb, she can see the dinner plate. Moving her eyes across the kitchen to the living room provides Darcy with a partial sweep of the downstairs.

  Her heart thunders. This is where the killer watched Haynes.

  Darcy activates the flashlight on her phone. Scanning the walls and jamb, she stops on a smudge. It could be dust or dirt, but closer inspection reveals the mark as a fingerprint. Did they just get lucky? State police throughout the country administer the Automated Fingerprint Identification System. AFIS contains millions of criminal and civilian prints. If their unsub is in the system, they can place him inside Ali Haynes’s house.

  “You got careless,” she mutters.

  The door swings open. Darcy touches her chest as Ketchum glares at her from the doorway.

  “CSI is on the way. Find anything?”

  “There’s a print on the wall. It’s his.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Friday, September 18th

  9:40 p.m.

  While they await the CSI team, Darcy searches the basement and attic. Ketchum’s voice rings through the house, rising in pitch. He’s on the phone with the Smith Town PD Chief of Police, and Ketchum is unhappy with Detective Pinder. As Darcy closes the attic door and descends the stairs, a message comes in from Julian.

  Call me.

  Darcy stares at the message. This can’t be good. Downstairs, Ketchum paces the living room with the receiver jammed against his ear. Darcy catches his attention and raises her thumb and pinkie finger, a signal that she needs to make a call. Ketchum gives her a thumbs up as she exits the house and stands in the missing teacher’s driveway. The moon plays cat-and-mouse, vanishing and reappearing between clouds. When it disappears again, the night turns black.

  “What happened to Jennifer?” Darcy asks after Julian answers.

  “We were right. Kaitlyn drove Jennifer across the village to a boy’s house. The kid’s name is Sean Braden.”

  Darcy’s hand clenches. She senses the dread in Julian’s voice.

  “He didn’t hurt my daughter, did he?”

  “Sean took Jennifer up to his room. They were supposed to watch the game on TV and fool around, but it got out of hand. He tried to force Jennifer to have sex with him. She fought him and escaped.”

  “Are you saying this kid raped Jennifer?”

  “Tried to. Like I said, she got out from under him and ran out of the house. She’s shaken, and she twisted her ankle coming down the stairs. Obviously, I didn’t know this was happening, or I would have broken down the bastard’s door and got Jennifer out of there. All I wanted to do was play gotcha and ensure she didn’t lie to us again.”

  Darcy closes her eyes and touches her forehead.

  “This isn’t your fault. How could you have known?” Adrenaline coursing through her body, Darcy strides from the top of the driveway to the bottom, her shoes making scuffing sounds. “What do we do now? Did you call the GCPD?”

  “Jennifer refuses to press charges. She’s a minor, so we could call the department and handle the situation ourselves. But she doesn’t want word getting around. And technically, nothing happened.”

  “We should call. Otherwise, this kid gets off scot-free.”

  “And I agree with you. But Jennifer is steadfast on keeping this quiet.”

  Darcy taps her foot as she leans against the SUV.

  “I don’t like this.”

  “Jennifer is tough. With our help, she’ll make it through.”

  “You’re right. She’s stronger than this Sean Braden bastard could ever hope to be.” She dries a tear on her shirtsleeve. “I’ll be home as soon as possible. Don’t let Jennifer out of your sight.”

  When the call ends, a hurt cry comes out of her chest. Why do these things keep happening to her family? God help Sean Braden. If they were in the same room now, Darcy would slap the smirk off the kid’s face. The front door opens and bangs shut. Ketchum waits on the stoop as Darcy composes herself. He moves cautiously toward the SUV, the keys dangling from his finger.

  “Everything all right?”

  Darcy hitches, and all her frustrations burst forth like a dam release. His movements are stiff and uncertain as he places a hand on her back and lets her cry into his shoulder. By sheer will, she calms herself, not wanting to waste another second. Darcy’s daughter needs her. She explains the situation.

  “I’ll drop you off at home.”

  “What about Ali Haynes?”

  “It’s up to the Smith Town PD to get off their asses. There’s no need for you to work twenty-four hours a day. I’ll come back and hang around until CSI finishes their sweep. By morning, we’ll have a fresh perspective on the case.”

  Darcy feels torn between her family and the missing woman. She’d never choose a case over Jennifer and Hunter, but she worries she’s abandoning Ali Haynes.

  The drive to the cove takes longer than expected when a fender bender forces Ketchum to detour. Fifteen minutes later, he pulls the SUV behind the Prius and leaves the engine running.

  “Take care of your daughter,” Ketchum says, touching her arm. The agent never shows his soft side. Concern etches creases across his forehead. “And stop worrying about the investigation. Without you, we’d still blame the deaths on venomous spiders.”

  “Thank you for bringing me home. Call me if there’s any news.”

  She can see her daughter’s shadow in
the bedroom window when she moves to the door.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  Friday, September 18th

  10:55 p.m.

  Darcy tears a tissue from the box and dries her face. Fifteen minutes after Julian brought the trash container from the bathroom and set it beside the couch, they filled it halfway. Jennifer hiccups and sobs, and this brings a grin to her face. Laughter being the best therapy, Darcy’s shoulders bounce as she pulls her husband and daughter into a hug.

  When the laughter ceases, and reality drips cold and heartless on them, Darcy takes Jennifer’s hands in hers.

  “I could yell at you for disobeying our orders and lecture you about sex. I won’t do that.”

  “Good, because all I wanted to do was…”

  “Play around, I understand. I never told you this. When I was a junior, I thought I was in love. This boy and I dated for a month, and then he invited me to his house after school one afternoon.” Darcy wrings her hands. “His parents worked until five. And the truth is, I understood the risk. I trusted him. Like you, I just wanted to be with this boy, maybe kiss a little.”

  “Mom,” Jennifer says, drawing the word out. “Gross.”

  “What? I wasn’t young once?”

  “I get it, but I don’t want to think about you making out with some creeper.”

  “Well, that’s all that was supposed to happen. But he was a senior and popular and perfect, and I admit I felt pressured to go beyond kissing. One thing led to another, and we ended up in his bed.”

  “I don’t want to hear this.”

  “You need to. Because the truth is, you’re smarter than I was. I didn’t say no, and I had sex.”

  Jennifer’s eyes move to Darcy’s.

  “It was wrong,” Darcy continues. “If my parents had found out, they’d have thrown me in a convent. But I was young and took stupid risks, even though we all knew about sexually transmitted diseases and unplanned pregnancies.”

  Even Julian sits forward. Jennifer seems to see her mother for the first time.

  “Did he get you pregnant?” Jennifer asks, wide-eyed.

  “No, thank goodness. But I fulfilled his wishes, which is all he ever wanted from me, and he treated me like dirt afterward.” Darcy picks at her shirt. “He spread it around school, bragged about stealing my virginity. After that, I was the slut all the girls whispered about. I heard all the rumors—how I screwed half the football team, that I was dating two college guys, about the abortion I had, that I gave some kid herpes in ninth grade. None of it was true. But once a lie propagates, it takes on a life of its own. To this day, I haven’t attended a class reunion. He ruined my school life.”

  Jennifer stares at her hands.

  “You should have gotten back at him. Hurt him like he hurt you.”

  “Why? That would have made me as bad as him.”

  “What happened to the boy? After school, that is.”

  Darcy’s lips curl into a smile.

  “I looked him up on Facebook once. He’s twice divorced and a hundred pounds overweight. Not the heart throb he was in high school. Karma’s a bitch.”

  “And revenge is a dish best served cold,” Jennifer says, chuckling.

  There’s a knife-edged sharpness behind her daughter’s chuckle that pulls Darcy’s attention. She glances at Julian to see if he noticed. He sips from a root beer and crosses his legs at the ankles, one hand moving to the stomach wound as he winces.

  “So in my case, the sex was consensual, and I only have myself to blame for entering a dangerous situation. I never should have gone to his house. Could I have stopped him if he forced me to have sex? I wasn’t as tough as you are, Jennifer.”

  Jennifer bites her nail. Darcy never noticed Jennifer chewing her nails before. She takes pride in her nails and wouldn’t ruin their appearance, but they’re chipped and broken, some of them bitten to the quick. Jennifer yawns.

  “I’m going to bed. The sooner this day is over, the better.”

  “You sure you don’t want to talk more?”

  “I’m all right. Kaitlyn wants to know what happened, so I’ll call her back.”

  “Don’t say too much, hon. Just in case you change your mind and this turns into a legal matter.”

  “I won’t.”

  When Jennifer’s door closes, Julian raises his eyes to Darcy’s.

  “You believe her when she claims she’s all right with this?”

  “Not at all,” Darcy says. “But I’ll give her time and space. That’s what I needed when I was in her position.”

  Julian holds her hand.

  “You never told me that story.”

  “It’s not something I’m proud of or like to talk about.”

  “God, I hope I didn’t treat girls like that when I was a teenager.”

  “Please. You didn’t. Most boys are respectful and wouldn’t dream of violating a girl’s trust. The Sean Bradens of the world never change when they reach adulthood.”

  “Well, I’m sorry you dealt with that nonsense and held it in all these years.”

  Darcy sips from her decaf and places the cup on the end table.

  “Now it’s time for you to be truthful with me.”

  Julian shifts on the couch and leans into the corner.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I know you better than anyone, Julian. And if there’s anybody who loves Jennifer as much as I do, it’s you. You won’t take this Sean Braden situation lying down. I see a plan forming behind your eyes.”

  Julian lays one arm across the top of the couch and brushes the hair off his forehead. When he replies, his gaze fixes on the far wall as if he pictures another time and place.

  “I won’t lie to you. The GCPD won’t help us—no rape occurred, and Jennifer won’t cooperate. But that doesn’t prevent me from going after Sean on my own.”

  Darcy sits forward and touches his arm.

  “Be careful, Julian. You’re an officer of the law.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m not a violent person. I won’t hurt the prick. But I’ll watch his every movement. The first time he screws up, I’ll be there to catch him in the act.”

  “You’re worried he’ll attack another girl.”

  Julian’s jaw shifts.

  “All right,” Darcy says, resigned. “But keep me in the loop. I don’t want to read your name in one of Gail Shipley’s articles, so no running off like a vigilante.”

  “You mean I can’t act like Agent Darcy Haines of the FBI.”

  “You’re a funny guy, Julian,” she says, giving him a playful tap on the shoulder.

  Darcy yawns.

  “I’ve got a long weekend ahead,” says Darcy, rising off the couch. Julian struggles to his feet, his eyes closing as his hand moves to the wound again. “Talk to Ketchum, please. I hate seeing you like this.”

  “I hate feeling like this.”

  “The less time you spend chasing sex-crazed teens, the faster you’ll heal.”

  Darcy crawls into bed with Julian on his side next to her. Her head sinks into the pillow, yet sleep refuses to come. Tossing and turning, she listens to Julian’s soft breaths. He’s deep inside a dream as she stares at the ceiling fan.

  As she rolls over, her eyes stop on a spiderweb outside her window.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Friday, September 18th

  11:30 p.m.

  A dinner plate lies at Ali Haynes’s feet. He fed her tonight, the first meal she’s had since the man interrupted her supper yesterday evening. The steak, so raw it bled, left a crimson puddle on the dish. As she slumps on the hard metal chair, he sits across from her on the floor, legs folded like a kindergarten child playing duck, duck, goose. Blue eyes peer at her from inside the clown mask.

  “Ready to try again?” he asks in false baritone.

  “I’m tired. Can’t you let me sleep?”

  His head turns from side to side. As day blackened into night, he tested her, first placing a hissing cockroach the size of a computer
mouse on her lap, then graduating to various tarantulas Ali couldn’t identify. Though she’s not afraid of spiders and bugs, tremors rushed beneath her skin when he placed the cockroach and tarantulas on her arm.

  “Don’t breathe,” he’d told her. “My babies are gentle unless you frighten them.”

  Yet she couldn’t control her nerves. Staring into the spiders’ eyes, seeing her reflection in them, sent her into a panic. She twitched and writhed, her arm shaking until the spiders sank their fangs into her flesh. Ali knows tarantula venom can’t hurt her, but the bites felt like a hundred wasps stinging her arm at once. Her exposed arm is a lunar landscape of bite wounds.

  “Until you prove you can remain calm, I can’t administer the last test,” he says, the mask muffling his words so they’re difficult to understand.

  “No more tests. I want to go home.”

  “If you pass, Ali, you may go wherever you like. I’ll set you free.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  He chuckles. The inanimate clown grin stares back at her as a chill runs through her veins. Perhaps she can talk sense into the man. Though he kidnapped her, he hasn’t beaten or injured Ali, hasn’t placed a knife against her throat and threatened to spill her blood.

  “The bouquet was pretty,” she says, lowering her eyes to the carpet.

  “Was it, now?”

  “Yes. The flowers were beautiful.” Ali forces herself to lift her eyes. “If you wanted to meet me, all you needed to do was talk to me when you called. I’m just as lonely as you are.”

  The man in the clown mask snickers.

  “Why would you say I’m lonely? I have you, don’t I?”

  She gives a hesitant nod.

  “We would have dated and discovered if we were right for each other. Maybe we still can.”

  “You’re a liar,” he says, rising to his feet. “I offered myself to you, and you turned your back.”