EVERY BREATH YOU TAKE

by Debby Conrad

  At the time, she’d thought it was sweet that he thought he loved her that much. But now she realized he’d been obsessed with her.

  Her stepfather had insisted his son go away to school, even though Brad had begged to go to the community college in town instead. The summer before he’d left for school he’d threatened Hollin that if she started behaving like Rachel she’d be sorry.

  She hadn’t paid much attention to him then. But the past was starting to come back to her.

  After she’d been raped, Brad had sat in her room with her and cried. Said how sorry he was that she’d been hurt. But one night he’d upset her by saying, “Maybe if you hadn’t been wearing such slutty looking clothes and all that makeup. I warned you not to start behaving like Rachel.”

  His words had stung, but ever since then she’d dressed modestly and wore only the tiniest bit of makeup. The thing was, Brad wouldn’t have known how she was dressed the night she was raped unless he’d seen her that night.

  He was supposed to have been away at school, which was only an hour away. When Rachel found her, she’d called Brad and left word with his roommate there was a family emergency and that their step-brother was to come home immediately. Brad had showed up exactly two hours later. Time enough for him to return to school, and drive back to Whisper Lake. Or maybe he hadn’t driven back to school at all. It didn’t matter now. It was him. It was Brad who’d raped her.

  She should have known the day she’d made herself remember all the details of that night. When she’d remembered the penny loafers. Brad always wore penny loafers.

  A wave of nausea swept through her. She chanced a glance in his direction. “I’m going to be sick. I need to find a bathroom.”

  “Drive.”

  Willing her stomach to settle, she continued on. She needed to keep calm so she could think of an escape plan. Twenty minutes later, she noticed the warning light come on to alert them they were low on gas and said a silent prayer of thanks.

  “We need gas, Brad.” Seeing a sign for a well lit exit, she flipped on her turn signal.

  “No,” he said. “The next one.”

  But the next exit was dark and isolated. A gas mart sat on the southwest corner of the intersection while vacant land occupied the other three corners. Hollin breathed a sigh of relief when she noticed they couldn’t pay at the pump. Which meant Brad would have to go inside the small convenience store.

  And that meant she might be able to escape.

  He yanked the key from the ignition. “Get out!”

  Hollin reached for the door handle, but Brad shook his head.

  “This way,” he said, opening the passenger door, and grabbing her by the wrist. She had no choice but to climb over the console and follow him out of the car. “Don’t try anything stupid, or I’ll slit your throat and leave you here to die. Don’t think I won’t.”

  She swallowed thickly and walked with him to the other side of the car. He kept hold of her wrist, his fingers digging into her skin, while he filled her tank. After replacing the gas cap, he pulled her to stand toe to toe with him.

  “That filet knife is in my jacket pocket.”

  Her gaze drifted briefly to his hip pocket of his sports coat.

  “Don’t make me have to use it on you, or anyone else.” He punctuated each of his words and then marched her toward the front door of the store. A cool breeze lifted the edge of her skirt, and she shivered.

  Through the glass she noticed a skinny boy, about eighteen, rapping his hand on the counter. He had stringy brown hair, pulled back into a low ponytail and a set of earphones over his head.

  Jerking her wrist to get her attention, Brad glared at her. “Be careful, Hollin. Or you’ll wind up as dead as Rachel.”

  A suffocating awareness tightened her throat. Why hadn’t she made that connection before now? Brad killed Rachel. The bile rose, and she turned her head and threw up on the pavement.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  “Nice going,” Brad barked. “You’re lucky you missed my shoe.” He moved his feet away from Hollin and the mess on the ground. “Now settle down and get inside.” He tugged on her wrist and pulled her to the door. A bell jangled above, but the kid behind the counter didn’t acknowledge them as they approached.

  Brad held out a twenty, and the kid took it without looking at either of them. He was obviously into his music.

  Hollin noticed the small bloodstain on the side of her blouse where Brad had jabbed her with the knife. She positioned herself so the kid could see the stain. Stared at him, her eyes wide, trying to convey the danger she was in.

  But he never made eye contact with her. He placed the twenty in the cash register, and pulled out a one dollar bill and some change. Dropping it into Brad’s waiting palm, the kid then saluted and turned his back on them.

  Hollin released a strangled sigh, but Brad dragged her to the door and out into the parking lot. Was he going to kill her too? The way he’d killed Rachel?

  Fighting back a scream, she walked with him to the car. Her legs were heavy, as if she were trying to walk through snow. She supposed it was because she felt weak. In the past several days, she’d barely eaten enough to keep up her strength.

  But that didn’t mean she had to give in to Brad. She couldn’t let herself get lost in despair. She had to stay alert. Had to find a way to outsmart him. Because there was no way she would let him hurt her the way he did all those years ago. Never again.

  At the car, she stopped and turned to face him. “Why, Brad? What got in to you?”

  “You don’t get it, do you?”

  “No. Help me understand,” she pleaded, hoping to catch him off guard. “Let’s talk.”

  His features turned hard as he sneered at her. “There’ll be plenty of time for talking, later.” He flung open the door and gave her a shove. “Get in!” He got in behind her, slammed his door and stared straight ahead. “Drive.”

  #

  The sun had come up hours ago, and there was still no sign of Hollin. She hadn’t returned any of his frantic calls to her cell phone. Griffin called the MacDougal residence and spoke with the housekeeper. After identifying himself, he said, “Please tell me if you’ve heard from Hollin last night or this morning. We had a . . . disagreement, and she ran out on me.”

  He heard the hesitation in the woman’s voice. “No, Mr. Wells. I haven’t heard from her. I’ve already called Sheriff Tyler.”

  There was a sourness in the pit of his stomach. “I see.” He swallowed. “I need to talk to her. It’s very important. Would you please ask her to call me if she shows up anytime soon?”

  Again, the hesitation. “Yes. Yes, I’ll ask her.”

  Griffin hit the disconnect button. Where was she? Last night’s misery still haunted him, but now he was more concerned for Hollin’s safety than her broken heart. After taking a quick shower, he drove to the sheriff’s office.

  #

  Sheriff Tyler closed the file on his desk and looked up at Griffin, who stood in the doorway of his windowless office. “Mr. Wells. I’m a little surprised to see you here.”

  Ignoring the man’s sarcasm, Griffin said, “I’m trying to find Hollin Pierce. She left my house about nine last night, but she never went home.”

  “Yes, I got a call from the housekeeper, Josephine Crandell. It seems Ms. Pierce left a note last evening saying she would be back in an hour. Her cell phone has been turned off, and it appears she’s not checking any of her messages.”

  “The housekeeper told me she’d called you.”

  The sheriff nodded in response, looking relaxed. And that irked Griffin. Wasn’t he the least bit concerned about where Hollin was?

  “Have a seat.”

  Griffin hesitated, then kicked the rung on the vinyl and chrome chair and dropped into it. The two men stared at each other until Griffin broke the silence.

  “Well, is anyone out looking for her?” he asked impatiently.

  “As a matter of fact, Deputy Heywood is on his wa
y to your place.”

  Griffin’s short bark of laughter lacked humor as he leaned back in the chair. “Why do you have such a hard-on for me?”

  “Well, let me tell you. First off, you were convicted of raping Hollin Pierce thirteen years ago. Then, when she comes back to town, instead of keepin’ your distance, you started sniffin’ around her again. Shortly after her return, someone started watching her, scaring her.” He leaned forward, pinning Griffin with his gaze, and placed his elbows on the desk. “Then her sister turns up dead. And guess what? She was either raped, or someone got pretty rough with her before he strangled her. Tell me what you would think, if you were sittin’ on the other side of this desk.”

  Griffin slanted his head. “I think, instead of wasting time questioning me, I’d get off my fat ass and start looking for her.”

  Sheriff Tyler straightened his shoulders and traced his mustache with his index finger. “Where do you think I should look, Mr. Wells?”

  Griffin stared at the man, wondering if he was serious. “I don’t need this bull shit. I’ll find her myself.” He got to his feet and started to take his leave when the sheriff stopped him.

  “Mind if I ask you a question first?”

  Of course he minded. But instead of saying so, he shrugged one shoulder.

  “Sit down.”

  Griffin sat.

  Tyler opened the manila file folder on his desk and removed a photo. He slid the picture toward Griffin. “Have you ever seen this girl?”

  Zooming in on the photograph, Griffin noticed the purple bruises on the dead girl’s neck. She looked young, no older than eighteen, and she’d apparently been strangled. He stirred uneasily in the chair as the room seemed like it was closing in on him. Did Sheriff Tyler think he’d had something to do with her death?

  “I don’t recognize her.” He pushed the photo back at Tyler.

  The sheriff took it and studied it for a moment. “Her name was Mandy Howell. She was only seventeen.” He met Griffin’s gaze. “Someone raped and strangled her a few weeks ago and then left her body in a motel room about an hour south of here.”

  And you think it was me. “Was she from around here?”

  “No, she lived in Pittsburgh. In the North Hills area. Familiar with those parts?”

  “No,” he said quickly.

  “The MO is very similar to that of Rachel Pierce.”

  Griffin blew out a noisy breath. “I’m getting damn sick and tired of being accused of these heinous crimes. I’m not a rapist, and I’m certainly not a murderer.” He pushed back the chair, scraping the legs on the linoleum, and stood. “If you have anything else to say to me, you can make an appointment with my lawyer. In the meantime, I’ll be out looking for Hollin.”

  Turning on his heels, he marched out of Tyler’s office. If something bad had happened to Hollin, the sheriff was going to be one sorry man.

  #

  The first place he checked for Hollin was at Brad MacDougal’s apartment. Her step-brother owned a flat in town and occupied the top half. Griffin parked on the street out front and took the stairs two at a time. He alternated between the doorbell and pounding his fist on the metal door, but MacDougal didn’t answer.

  Assuming he’d already left for the office, Griffin made that his next stop. He entered the double doors of Peterson and MacDougal and pushed forward to the receptionist’s desk.

  A young woman sat behind the desk, chatting about someone she’d met the night before and ignored Griffin. She twirled a finger in her black curls and giggled into the receiver. “I’m telling you, Shannon, he’s the one for me. I’ve never met anyone hotter than this guy. He called me ‘Shortcake’. Isn’t that just the sweetest thing?”

  Griffin tried twice to get her attention, but the woman only scowled at him and raised a finger to say “Wait a minute.” He sighed, glancing around at the tall windows and dark cherry crown molding and trim.

  The receptionist giggled again. “Yes, he promised to call me tonight.”

  She started oohing and awing about how cool she thought this guy’s lip ring was and Griffin lost his patience. He pressed his finger to the disconnect button and was treated with a look of hostility.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” she asked, getting to her feet. She looked as though she was about to climb over the desk and beat him.

  “Sorry. Emergency. I need to speak with Brad MacDougal.”

  She pressed her hands to her bony hips. “Emergency or not, you still can’t come in here and act like that.”

  “Does Mr. MacDougal know you spend your time making personal phone calls while you should be working?”

  She swallowed nervously and dropped her hands to rest on the desk. “Please, I need this job.” She shrugged and smiled sweetly. “Credit cards, you know. I mean, you tell yourself you’re going to pay them off in full when the bills come, but then pretty soon you’re using the cards again and can barely make the minimum payments. So, please, don’t tell him I was on the phone. He’s already yelled at me twice for screwing up.”

  Griffin offered her a look of sympathy, but he didn’t have time to chat with her about her credit card debt. “Look, I won’t say anything. I don’t even like the guy. Okay?”

  She grinned at him. “Neither do I,” she whispered, then let out an annoying giggle.

  “So, is Mr. MacDougal in, or not?”

  “No, I haven’t heard from him all morning. Did you have an appointment?”

  He shook his head.

  “Well, then there’s no telling when he’ll show up. He’s had a lot of family stuff going on lately.” She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “He just buried his step-sister last week.”

  “I heard,” Griffin said, trying not to reveal his emotions. “Is that normal for him? Not to call in if he’s going to be away from the office?”

  She looked over her right shoulder toward the staircase as if someone might be lurking there. “Well, not really. I mean he usually calls and makes up some phony appointment outside the office or something.” She spread her fingers in a helpless gesture, then rolled her eyes skyward. “Mr. Peterson is not real happy with him right now. He’s had to fill in for Mr. MacDougal a lot lately because of missed appointments. I probably shouldn’t be telling you this, but they had words yesterday. Mr. Peterson and Mr. MacDougal. I couldn’t help but overhear most of it. They were shouting at each other. Mr. Peterson told him if he wasn’t going to take the business seriously, then he was going to dissolve their partnership.” She sighed in relief. “Nothing would make me happier. Mr. Peterson is really nice, you know?”

  No, Griffin didn’t know. He’d never met the man. He thought over the situation. MacDougal always impressed him as the control freak type. Meticulous about his looks. It didn’t make sense that he would be so sloppy with his partnership.

  The receptionist went on. “He’s nothing like Mr. MacDougal, who is just plain mean.” She forced herself to shiver and made a face as if she’d just bit into a lemon wedge. “And he’s creepy. He’s always looking at me weird-like, you know?”

  Griffin’s antennas perked up. “How so?” he asked as casually as he could manage.

  “Well, like, one day I was bending over to pick up this box that the UPS guy dropped off, and he yelled at me. Said my skirt was too short. Said if I wasn’t careful some guy would get the wrong idea and teach me a lesson.” She rolled her eyes again. “He said his sister was raped when she was fifteen because she was dressing like a whore.”

  Griffin froze, his mind going in a dozen different directions. A wave of heat rolled up the back of his neck, and the nagging in his brain refused to go away. Icy fear gripped his heart. Why hadn’t anyone considered Hollin’s step-brother as the one who had hurt her?

  “I mean, who says something like that?” she wailed, not waiting for him to answer. “And another day he told me I was wearing too much make-up, that I looked like a slut, and I said--”

  “Listen,” he said, interrupting her stor
y. “If you hear from MacDougal, would you try to find out where he is and then call me?” He grabbed a pen from her pencil cup and scribbled his cell phone number on her day planner.

  “But what if he won’t tell me where he is?”

  “Please,” he said, and briefly touched her hand across the desk. “I need your help. A woman’s life could be in danger.”

  She swallowed. “Okay, but I don’t even know your name.”

  “Wells. Griffin Wells.”

  Her eyes shot up and she let her hands fall from the desk, as if he might touch her again. It was obvious she knew him. Or knew of him, rather.

  “Please,” he said, then asked, “What’s your name?”

  She hesitated for a moment. “Melissa.”

  “Please, Melissa, trust me. I’m not the bad guy you think I am.”

  She shifted her eyes in all directions, then slowly sat down in her chair. Smiling apprehensively, she asked, “What do you want me to do?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  “Start slowing down,” Brad directed. “You’re going to take a right up ahead. Look for a large rock.”

  She’d been driving forever, it seemed. They’d made a second stop for gas, but Brad had used a credit card at the pump that time. Therefore, they hadn’t needed to go inside to pay.

  “You’re going to miss it if you don’t slow down.”

  Hollin saw the huge stone and deliberately drove past it.

  “Hey, I told you to slow down! Now, turn around and pay attention.”

  “It’s hard for me to see. With the rain and all.” They were so isolated, she thought. For the past five or six miles, she’d seen nothing but gravel roads and trees. They were somewhere in eastern Michigan.

  The rainwater splashed against her windshield and the rubber on the blades smeared it back and forth, blurring her vision.

  Bringing the car to a stop, she maneuvered it to the left, backed up several feet and then finished her U-turn. She wondered if she could outrun him if she flung the door open and managed to get out. Alive.