That’s when he saw it.
He stopped the truck and radioed Tom.
“I need you to get over here, now.”
Sophia turned and saw it, too. She took in a breath. “That’s Lisa’s car!”
“Where are you?” Tom asked.
Braydon clenched his teeth. There was no way it was a coincidence that Lisa’s car was there.
“Right where Terrance Williams died.”
* * *
“STAY IN THE CAR, SOPHIA” is something Thatcher would have probably said had she not thrown open the truck door and taken off running toward the car. He hadn’t even finished his conversation with Tom but she didn’t care. After days of not knowing anything, she finally had an answer. Although, Sophia knew that whatever was in the car wouldn’t be an answer she wanted.
There were really only two ways it could go: the car would be empty or the car wouldn’t be empty. The second option terrified her to her very core. The bright smile of Lisa Hardwick danced across her vision. Somewhere in the back of her mind she realized she might never see it again.
Sophia pushed through the thigh-high grass. Her adrenaline had spiked and at each step closer her stomach knotted tighter. Thatcher was yelling behind her but she didn’t care. She needed to see what was or wasn’t in the little green car.
The moonlight made it hard to see the small details around the vehicle when Sophia reached her destination, but all of the doors were shut and the windows intact. She let out a shaky breath. The front seats were empty. Her eyes roamed to the backseat. Her heart dropped with shattering speed. Without thinking, she opened the door and was hit with a wave of stench. It made her stomach roll, but not as much as the body lying across the seats.
Sophia stumbled back just as Thatcher caught up to her. His presence did nothing to stop the scream that tore from her throat.
Chapter Six
“Oh, Sophia.” Braydon pulled the woman into his arms, walking her backward farther away from the car. He didn’t have to look into it to know there was a decaying body inside. He could smell it. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
“No!” she cried into his shirt.
“Sophia.” He held her close, knowing her grief. Years had dulled his own but he would never forget the original pain, like a wound that never healed—a puckered red scar that only he could see.
“No!” she yelled again, fisting her hands into his shirt. He was prepared to stand there, holding her, trying to console her as best he could, until Tom came. Seeing her sister’s body would spike her emotions and make her irrational. He didn’t want her to go back and look again. “No. It isn’t—it isn’t Lisa.”
“What?” he said. She looked up, tears streaking her face.
“The body. She has blond hair.” He knew he shouldn’t have felt the slight relief that filled him now. There was still a woman in there. That someone had a family—a Sophia who cared—and wouldn’t see them again. There should be no relief for someone else’s death. “Go,” she said, taking a shaky step back. “I’m—I’m okay.”
“Are you sure?” He titled her chin up so he could look squarely into her eyes. They shone bright green beneath the tears. An overwhelming desire to protect this woman consumed him. He wouldn’t leave her side unless he knew she was okay and even then... He shook his head to clear any thoughts of the future. Right now he had to deal with the grim present.
“Yeah,” she answered.
He nodded and gave her arm one last squeeze. “Stay here while I take a look, okay?”
“No problem.”
Braydon switched on his flashlight and moved over to the car. If driving down the road had been familiar, then walking up to the car was downright déjà vu. The car in the clearing, the body in the backseat, the blood splattered against the back windshield. Braydon was on autopilot as he swept the light across the body. His mind raced. His palms became slick with sweat. The details weren’t just similar but almost exact.
He had seen this before.
The body on its back, the gun pressed against the temple, a hole through the head where the bullet had traveled... It was the scene of suicide and, even though this time it was a woman in the same position, all Braydon could see was Terrance Williams.
* * *
HE WATCHED AS Braydon Thatcher, golden boy of the Culpepper PD, walked up to the car. Before the new detective even shone his flashlight over the body, he could see the tension that lined the man’s shoulders. Braydon wasn’t stupid. He knew what he would find inside. The detective had enough reason to not believe in so many coincidences.
Just like he had planned, Braydon’s face contorted into terrifying realization when he saw poor Trixie Martin with a gun up to her head.
It all made him smile.
He put his beer bottle back into the built-in cup holder of his chair. There were empty bottles scattered at his feet from the previous days. Waiting for Braydon to find the car had been a true test of his patience. One he had been afraid he would fail if he’d had to wait any longer. He was extremely thankful for the dispatch he’d picked up ten minutes before. Without hearing that Braydon was on his way to Dolphin Lot, he would have missed the entire show.
That would have been a pity. If Braydon had never found the car, then all of this would have been for nothing. He had worked too hard for the setup to go unseen.
Braydon’s movements became clipped and clumsy while his mind, no doubt, worked through what was in front of him. The part of the puzzle he was meant to understand was laid out and rotting in that car while the “who” was a short, yet unconfirmed list. Eventually the man would fill in the blanks, but right now he was trying to maintain a professional neutrality with the crime scene and the woman shaking behind him.
That woman. She must have been Lisa’s little sister, Sophia. They shared the dark hair but varied in height and curves. Whereas Lisa was a long-legged conventional beauty, Sophia was small and, dare he think it, cute—like a child playing dress up in adult clothing. He couldn’t see the tears that spilled down her face from this vantage point within the cover of the trees, but he knew she was crying—her body shook in the humid night air.
Even though finding Trixie’s body had been the main interest, he found Braydon’s attention kept moving toward the woman. How the detective looked at her, how he held her, how he tried to console her... He felt something for her. He cared. This was a new development.
He took another pull on his drink. A new addition to the plan was forming. Sophia Hardwick was about to be reunited with her sister, though not under the circumstances that she wanted.
The idea was a catalyst to the smile that stretched across his face. It was time Detective Thatcher suffered the way he had all those years ago. It was time to show him that not all was forgotten.
The thought of his brother only hardened his resolve. He finished his drink and grabbed his bag. Right now Braydon was going through emotional shock but when that dissolved and the cop part of him kicked in, he would get suspicious of his surroundings—he would start looking for the culprit. It would be a shame for the detective to see him now.
That time was quickly approaching. Trixie’s body was the first domino. Now, all he had to do was introduce himself to the second Miss Hardwick.
It was time to show Braydon that his entire life could be undone as easily as Terrance’s had.
Chapter Seven
Detective Langdon showed up shortly after, racing at the insistence of his partner. He jogged to the car from the road, passing Sophia who had taken a moment to get sick off to the side. He, too, understood that the positioning and circumstances of Trixie’s death, everything, right down to the spot on Dolphin Lot, was mimicked. The way he kept cutting his eyes toward Braydon spoke volumes.
“Who is it?” Sophia called from a distance. Her voice
reminded Braydon that he needed to get back to the present and do his job. He focused on the woman’s face and hair.
It was the blue-eyed, blond-haired Trixie Martin. Missing woman number two. She wore a tank top, running shorts and tennis shoes. Apart from the gunshot wound, the rest of her body seemed unharmed.
“I’m going to go call this in and get some backup here,” Tom said just low enough for Braydon to hear. “Do you want to take Sophia home?”
“No. I want to go over the scene.” He paused, then lowered his voice. “It’s just how I found him all those years ago. This can’t be a coincidence. The crime scene wasn’t public knowledge. At least, not all of the details. Only a few of us saw it and Trixie Martin was nowhere near involved in it.” Tom didn’t respond. He didn’t need to. There were only a handful of people who could have copycatted the death of Terrance Williams with such detail. Braydon’s jaw hardened and he shook himself. “But send a car over to take her home.” Tom nodded and started to turn around. “And tell them to watch her house.” He couldn’t shake the growing feeling of unease within him.
“You got it, Partner.”
Braydon took another look at the young woman in the car before retreating to Sophia’s side. Her expression tore at his heart. She had stopped crying but the concern and fear radiated off her in waves. More than anything, he felt the need to hold her and tell her everything was going to be okay. He would figure it out, he would find Lisa and Amanda, and he would bring justice crashing down on whoever was doing this.
“Who is it?” she asked again.
“Trixie Martin,” he answered. “It’s Trixie Martin.”
Sophia sucked in a breath.
“And she killed herself? In my sister’s car? But why?”
“Just because there’s a gun to her head doesn’t mean she’s the one who pulled the trigger.” He regretted it as soon as he said it. Sophia’s eyes widened.
“You think she was killed?”
“We can’t rule out the possibility yet.” They stood there a moment, each caught in a web of dark thoughts. Dealing with a kidnapper was one thing. Dealing with a killer was another. “A cruiser is coming to take you back to Lisa’s.” She opened her mouth to complain but he kept on. “This isn’t a discussion. If you want me to find your sister, you need to trust me. I have to do my job and this part will go faster with less people hanging around.” He put his hand on her shoulder, hoping it provided some comfort. “I promised you I would find your sister and I will, okay?”
Sophia pursed her lips but nodded.
“And you’ll call me as soon as you find something?” she asked.
“Of course.” He dropped his hand from her shoulder. “I want you to call me or Tom if you need anything. Anything at all. Got it?”
She nodded again.
“And, Sophia? Do me a favor and lock the front door this time.”
* * *
A CAVALRY OF PEOPLE showed up within the hour. The car and area around it had become a true crime scene buzzing with activity as everyone carried out specific jobs. Sophia was told to wait in the truck—away from all the action. She understood the delicacy that had to be taken with the body, fingerprints and any clues left behind, but that didn’t stop her from feeling like an errant child told to go sit in time-out.
She wanted to help. Whether or not Trixie had killed herself or been killed, there were still two missing women out there and Sophia couldn’t help but feel like time was running out.
She sighed—it almost felt painful. Her lack of patience was showing itself, though she doubted any normal person in her situation wouldn’t be facing the same issues.
It was almost four in the morning by the time an officer came to collect Sophia. She wanted to stay and continue to watch Thatcher dissect the crime scene. The way he moved around it, the way his brow pulled together, the way his hands, now in gloves, moved across the surfaces of the scene, all had her enraptured. She had met men before who had taken their jobs seriously, but she had never seen Thatcher’s kind of conviction in it. Then again, the men she was comparing him to had never had a dead body as part of their job description.
Officer Murphy, a man of few words, held the door open for her when she finally gave in—she couldn’t deny the exhaustion that pushed against her body. Even an hour of sleep would be welcomed at this point.
Unlike the detectives or Officer Whitfield, the new cop was less than chatty on the ride to Lisa’s. That was fine by her. They rode in silence for the fifteen-minute drive, giving her time to deal with the main reason she had broken down after seeing Trixie’s body. If the second woman to go missing was already dead, then what chance did Lisa have?
It was a question that sliced through the hope she had been holding on to. The only reasons it hadn’t completely disappeared was because of a tall man with dark hair and the most beautiful blue eyes. If anyone could find Lisa and Amanda, she had to believe it was Braydon Thatcher. Watching him work, his face set in unfailing concentration, Sophia knew he would keep his word. Or, at the very least, try with all that he had.
“This is it,” Sophia told the officer as Lisa’s house came into view. Instead of pulling into the driveway he parked in the road and opened the door. She threw him an inquisitive look.
“You stay here while I make sure the house is safe.” He didn’t give her any room to complain, a trait that most Culpepper cops seemed to have, and took her keys to go inside. He was out in less than five minutes with two thumbs up.
“Thanks,” Sophia said, trying to keep her tone pleasant. Though her aggravation was tested at what he said next.
“Let me know if you need anything. I’ll be out here in the car.”
“You’re staying?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“For how long?”
“Until I’m told to leave.” He smiled and lifted his hands to stop her from responding. “Sorry, ma’am. Those are the orders.”
Sophia didn’t have the energy to protest. She thanked him for the ride and walked straight through the front door and didn’t stop until she hit the bed. No guilt wound its way up as she sunk in between the loud, multicolored pillows.
For the first time in days no amount of worries could keep her awake.
* * *
SUNLIGHT FOUGHT ITS way through the blinds and lit the bedroom in a pleasant glow. When Sophia awoke she felt disoriented but oddly content. It was peaceful here. There were no car horns or sirens competing for airtime, just the buzz of the air conditioner and the soft hum of the ceiling fan. It was relaxing.
She rolled onto her back and stretched. Even though she had slept, there was still a blanket of exhaustion wrapped around her. The stress of everything didn’t help. Sophia sat up and looked at her phone. It was barely nine on Friday, meaning she had slept for almost five hours. Guilt rose hot and fast at the realization. Were Lisa and Amanda able to sleep? Did their captor keep them awake, chained up to make sure they didn’t escape? Were they even alive? She jumped out of bed, trying to erase the last thought. Feeling guilty wasn’t going to help them.
Sophia took a quick shower to wake her up. The rest of the house may not have looked lived in but the bathroom was stocked with all the girly products she needed. Lisa had always been adamant about proper hair care.
When she finished she dressed in another pair of blue jeans, a gray T-shirt and tennis shoes. She didn’t bother with makeup or working on her hair. Instead she flung it up into a ponytail, the ends dripping water onto the tile floor. However, she took a moment to spray some perfume on, unintentionally thinking of Thatcher as she did it.
He hadn’t called or texted while she had been asleep. It concerned and annoyed her. Had they not found anything to use? Or had they found something that they didn’t want to share with her?
The cop car was still sitting in front of
the house. He had to know what was going on. She’d just have to get it out of him, a much easier task, she bet, if she had a peace offering. Though the pantry was almost empty, she spied a bag of blueberry muffin mix on the bottom shelf. The only ingredient they called for was water, taking twelve minutes to bake. Surely, the cop would be more willing to give her details while he munched on free breakfast.
Fifteen minutes later she was plating the delicious little confections when the doorbell rang. Her heart skipped a beat at the sound. She braced for bad news as she opened the door.
Sophia had never seen the man before. He was tall, fit and had a head full of dark red hair. He looked like the stereotypical Florida beach bum—a floral print button-down opened to show the white undershirt, navy swimming trunks, sandals and a pair of aviators over his eyes. He moved these up to the top of his head when the door opened, revealing eyes as black as coal.
“Hello,” the man greeted, smiling wide. He outstretched his hand. “My name is Nathanial.” On reflex she shook back. “You must be Lisa’s sister, Sophia?”
“Correct...”
“I wanted to come by and give you this.” He produced a handful of envelopes.
“What are these?”
“Lisa’s mail from work. It was piling up and I knew some were payments for her services so I thought they’d be safer with you.” She took them, looking over his shoulder at the stationary cop car as she did. Though she couldn’t get a clear view of the officer’s face, she could see his outline dutifully seated in the driver’s seat. He must have known Nathanial to let him come up to the house.
“Thank you, I’m sure she’d appreciate it. Are you two friends?” Sophia’s face heated slightly. She hadn’t meant it to sound like that. She just didn’t know much about the social circles Lisa had been running in the past year. Nathanial’s name didn’t sound familiar but, then again, neither had anyone else’s minus Richard. “I’m sorry if that sounds rude, I just don’t have the best memory when it comes to the names Lisa has told me.”
Manhunt Page 7
