It was guilt.
How many girls did I kill, trying to find that look in their eyes? Trying to find you…
She ran the names of the dead through her head, starting with the first girl Wade took after her. Lisa Pruitt. She’d been the first taken but the seventh set of remains to be found. Her body had been dragged deep into the woods and left, almost like she’d been banished. Like she’d failed somehow.
That’s because she did. She was a failure—they all were. None of them could give me what I needed because none of them were you.
“Shut up.” She said it out loud. It didn’t matter— no one could hear her. No one was here to tell her how crazy she was for talking to her dead, psychotic half-brother. “Just… shut the fuck up.”
You’re as much to blame as I am, you know? None of them had to die. If you’d stayed with me, they’d still be here.
“Stop talking or I’ll make you stop,” she said quietly, squeezing her eyes shut. She was tumbling down the rabbit hole, falling farther and farther…
You can’t get rid of me, Melissa. Killing me didn’t stop me—it just brought us closer together. I’m inside you now, closer than ever—
She clamped her hands around her thigh and squeezed, viciously pushing her thumbs into the puckered flesh of her scar so hard she was sure she’d break the skin. When Wade shot her, it’d been at close range with a hollow-point bullet. The bullet shattered in her leg, some fragments exiting the back of her thigh while others scattered throughout her leg, from hip to knee. The doctors removed the fragments that threatened her femoral artery but the others were still there. She could feel their sharp angles dig into her muscle. Pain ripped through her, so bright and loud it drowned out everything else. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think past the screaming throb in her leg. Every sound, every thought faded into the hum—bleached white, until pain was all that was left.
12
Sabrina woke, hands still resting on her thigh. She lay still for a moment, listening. The voice of her dead brother was gone, replaced by the quiet creaks and sighs of an unfamiliar house. She pulled her hands from her leg and rolled onto her side.
In the beginning, she’d thought the same as Val—killing Wade was supposed to be the end of it. That putting him in the ground would free her of him and the horrible things he’d done to her. She’d been wrong. Killing him had only given him a way inside.
Of course, when she thought about it rationally, she knew the truth. She was suffering from survivor’s guilt—that’s what the department therapist had called it. Her grief at losing her grandmother, coupled with blaming herself for her murder and the murder of so many others, made her see and hear things that weren’t really there and since she refused to talk about it, it was eating her alive.
In the silent hum, she allowed herself to pretend it didn’t matter. The howling pain in her thigh had mellowed to a whimpering ache. She felt calm. More centered and grounded than she had in weeks. Wade was gone, like he’d never been. She had no idea how long it would stay that way. A few hours. A few days. She never knew for sure, had just learned to be glad for the silence in between.
Sitting up, she took a glance at the bedside clock—just after five AM. She stood, didn’t favor her leg on her trip to the bathroom. Each step took the pain in her thigh from dull to sharp every time she settled her weight on it.
She showered and changed into fresh clothes before finally turning her phone back on. As soon as she did it began to chime, signaling voicemail after voicemail. She looked at the call log. Nick. Val. Strickland. She erased them all without bothering to listen to them. She’d have to deal with it soon enough. Right now she wanted a bit more calm before the storm. And coffee.
She left her room, careful to be as quiet as possible but when she reached the kitchen she found Miss Ettie was already up, bent over to pull something warm and sweet from the oven. She turned and fixed Sabrina with a knowing smile. “You need a bit more than coffee to start your day. Sit down,” Miss Ettie said, nodding her into one of the curved back chairs that sat snug against the kitchen table.
Sabrina sat, that feeling of being a little girl again came over her, and she had a flash of memory—sitting at the kitchen table in Lucy’s kitchen, her little legs dangling from the seat because she was too small to reach the floor. Lucy at the counter, cutting her a slice of cake and pouring a glass of sweet tea. Renegade tears pricked at the back of her eyes but she closed them off, refusing to give them a way out. She’d never been good at grieving.
Miss Ettie turned and set a cinnamon roll roughly the size of a steering wheel in front of her.
“Thank you,” she said, a brief smile touching the corner of her mouth.
“You’re wondering how I knew you were an early riser?” Miss Ettie said, busying herself with pouring Sabrina a cup of coffee.
“Yeah, I kind of am.”
Miss Ettie set a cup of coffee next to her plate and sat down. “Because for six weeks, Michael rolled himself out of bed at the most ungodly hour, just to go running with you. By the time I was up to make breakfast, he’d already been out and back and was making me pancakes.” She smiled. “He’s such a sweet boy.”
Sabrina hid a smiled behind her coffee cup. As El Cartero, Michael was rumored to be responsible for over twenty contract killings—and those were just the ones he was suspected of. Sweet was the last thing she’d call him. The thought of him flipping pancakes for a little old lady was borderline ridiculous. “I don’t run anymore.” She had no idea why she said it, why it felt like she was revealing some deep, dark sin. If she found it odd, the old lady didn’t let on, just rolled over her confession like she’d said nothing at all.
“He talks quite a bit about you—of course, I’m usually the one who brings you up but that’s just because I know how terribly stubborn he can be. He misses you terribly, I can hear it in his voice,” Miss Ettie said, pushing away from the table to fix herself a cup of coffee.
Sabrina picked at the edge of her pastry, had a piece nearly to her mouth before she understood what Miss Ettie was saying. She dropped it and turned in her seat. “You still talk to Michael?”
Miss Ettie nodded. “Every few weeks or so. He calls to check up on me, which is silly—sweet, but silly. He says it’s to make sure I get his checks, but I know the truth. When you get to be my age, people don’t just call you out of the blue to talk about the weather. It’s to make sure you haven’t fallen and broken a hip or up and died.”
Sabrina stared at her, furiously grabbing at words as they rushed past her. “Checks?”
“Mmm, from some foreign bank I’ve never heard of. He keeps his room here—number five—paid up through Kingdom come. I told him to stop sending them but like I said, he’s stubborn.” Miss Ettie said, giving her a disapproving look. “Eat.”
“Does he ever use it? Has he been back?” Her head was spinning but she stuffed a wad of sweet bread into her mouth and chewed—anything to keep the old woman talking.
“Yes…”Miss Ettie smiled. “Although he’s made it perfectly clear that I’m not supposed to tell anyone.Especially you.”
Sabrina almost choked on the food in her mouth but managed to get it down. “I won’t stay. I really shouldn’t have—”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You can use his room as long as you’d like. He’s on an extended trip overseas. I don’t expect him back anytime soon.” Miss Ettie reached out and patted her hand. “Unless you want me to call him… are you in trouble, dear?”
Yes. Call Michael. Tell him he needs to come back. “No. I’m fine. I just needed some peace and quiet.”
Miss Ettie looked far from convinced. “That you’ll get plenty of here, most days are as quiet as a tomb,” she said before she stood. “There’s a spare key in that dish over there. If you’re going to be late getting back, take it with you. I lock up at seven o’clock on the button.”
Sabrina glanced at the Blue Willow bowl on the counter by the back door and frowned. “You sh
ouldn’t keep a key to your house just lying around.”
“Now you sound like Michael.” The old woman laughed and patted her on her shoulder. “I’ll leave you to your breakfast,” Miss Ettie said, dividing a long look between her and the cinnamon roll before she disappeared into a room behind the kitchen.
Sabrina nodded, pulled off another piece and chewed. Kept at it until the entire thing was gone.
13
Even though it was barely six AM, Sabrina drove directly to the station, the red envelope tucked carefully away in her jacket pocket. As deeply as Miss Ettie’s revelation—that not only was she in frequent contact with him, that he’d been back to visit her several times over that past six months—affected her, she didn’t have time to pick it apart. Michael had been here and hadn’t contacted her. No matter what the old woman said, his message was clear.
He didn’t want to see her.
She pushed the thought from her mind and focused on the problem in front of her.
Soon.
It was an ambiguous word—one people used frequently. Harmless enough, but this time it carried the horrible weight of promise. Instinct told her that whoever wrote the note was serious, that he wasn’t just some wingnut out to rattle her cage. Crazy people didn’t disguise their voices when they called and neither did someone who acted on impulse. Whoever he was, he had a plan. One that involved her.
She parked and made her way toward the building. Every footfall felt like a hammer hitting the top of her hip, loosening her knee, making each step she took a gamble.
Her phone rang and she reached for it, reluctant but resolved. Hide-and-seek was over—time to face the music, but it wasn’t Val or Strickland. Recognizing the number, her anxiety spiked.
“Hello.”
“Hey… you want to explain why Weber called me at four o’clock in the morning to tell me you missed your session. Again.” It was Ben.
Kyle Weber was her physical therapist. A position he apparently took very seriously. Seriously enough to rat her out to the man footing the bill for her sessions. “Because he’s a tattle-tailing bitch. Probably got stuffed in a lot of lockers in high school,” she said, doing her best to sound cool and collected when she was anything but. “Look, I’m in the middle—”
“I don’t give a shit if you’re pulling kitten-toting nuns out of a burning building. Physical therapy was part of the deal. You don’t go, the deal is off. You’ll be no good to me in a wheelchair,” he said. His tone was easy but she could tell he was pissed.
She stopped at the base of the steps that led to the precinct’s main lobby and took a quick look around to make sure no one was within earshot. “I completely spaced it. I’m sorry—I’ll re-schedule.” The apology stuck in her throat but she forced it out. It was rare that Ben called her. Even rarer that he alluded to the debt she owed him.
“Maybe you should get yourself a CAT scan—this is the third time you’ve spaced it this month,” he said.
Frustration spiked. “Look, I said—”
“To tell the truth, I don’t care—just do what you’re told.” He didn’t sound angry anymore. He sounded concerned which made it even worse.
Standing still had stopped the rhythmic hammer blows from pounding into her hip. Now the pain was a constant push against her leg—from the inside out. She ignored it, focused on the anger that grabbed her. “If that’s what this is, you telling me what to do and where to go for the rest of my life—then I’m done. I’ll call your father myself.” Her tone was a hard shell of bullshit, protecting the nugget of terrified panic she was currently choking on. “Maybe you’ve got little minions stashed all over the map, scared shitless and ready to do your bidding, but I’m not one of them,” she said, even though that’s exactly what she was.
It was quiet for a moment. She listened to the background noise on Ben’s end of the line. She heard the sudden slam of a door, the low tones of another male voice, one she’d recognize anywhere. It was Michael and from the twittering that answered him, he’d brought home a woman.
The voices grew faint, followed by the quiet click of a door being eased shut, like Ben had found a quiet place to wrap up their conversation. “Weber’s expecting you today at one o’clock. If you don’t show, I’m gonna send a couple of Pips to hogtie you and deliver you to the appointment personally.”
This was the first time he’d ever threatened her with his father’s personal army but it barely fazed her. A queasy feeling took root in the pit of stomach.
Michael was with a woman.
“Sabrina…” Ben said, quiet but firm.
She climbed the steps, the throb in her thigh echoing her cadence. “I understand and I’ll be there, but only because the sooner my leg gets better, the sooner I can do whatever it is you want me to do. Then I can be rid of you and get on with my life,” she said before terminating the call and slipping her phone into her pocket.
Hanging up on Ben Shaw was a mistake, one she’d probably pay for later, but she didn’t care. Right now, she had other things to worry about. Pulling the door open, she stepped into the main lobby and headed for the information desk.
The officer behind the counter was an older woman, her face aimed at the fashion magazine on the desk, so all Sabrina saw was a short puff of frizzy brown hair. “Excuse me,” she said and the woman looked up. Acne scars, a blunt, piggish nose and tired blue eyes completed the unattractive picture. As soon as she recognized her, the woman’s eyes went flat, like she was trying not to see her. Sabrina was used to it. She’d never been Miss Popularity but thanks to Croft and his string of bullshit articles, she’d achieved bona fide leper status. Sabrina forced a smile. “Hi…” she checked the badge, “Officer Donner. Did you just come on shift?” Hopefully, this was the officer working the days and she’d be able to give her some answers about the note card.
“Nope. Just waiting for my replacement. He’s late—as usual,” Officer Donner said.
“He? Who is he?” Hopefully she’d recognize the name.
“Anderson.” Donner said. “Cute— too bad he’s being rotated out from behind the desk.”
Sabrina just nodded. She did know Anderson and Donner was right—he was good-looking, in that clean-cut, toothpaste commercial kinda way. He also happened to be one of the few uniforms that still treated her like a human being. “What time does he usually roll in?”
“Depends on where he wakes up. Kid’s got a thing for badge bunnies.” The look on Donner’s face soured a bit, taking her from unattractive to downright ugly.
“And today’s his last day?”
“Yup. Starting tomorrow he’ll ride a car on second shift,” Donner said.
That meant she only had today to track Anderson down before he’d be almost impossible to nail down.
“Thanks… I’m Inspector Vaughn—could you call my desk when he shows up?”
Donner tipped her face toward the magazine she’d been thumbing through. “I know who you are,” she said.
Which meant Sabrina had hit a dead end. Short of camping out in the lobby, she’d run out of options, save one. “Never mind. I’ll just come back later.” She backed away from the desk and headed for the elevator.
_______
The first thing Sabrina saw when the elevator slid open onto the homicide bullpen was
Strickland. He was sitting at her desk, leaned so far back in the chair it was a wonder he stayed upright. His feet were kicked up on her blotter, the left one threatening to knock over her desk lamp. Coffee cups and a few take-out boxes littered her space and she frowned at them. Her partner wouldn’t be satisfied until every flat surface between here and hell was covered in garbage. She leaned her backside against her desk and looked at him. His suit was rumpled, his hair uncombed, a few days’ worth of stubble covered his cheeks and chin. She smiled. They were like The Odd Couple—with guns.
“Hey.” She poked one of his knees with her index finger, knocking them together. He came up swinging, nearly jolting out of his sea
t like she’d hit him with a cattle prod. His foot made good on its promise, launching her lamp off the desk.
Strickland stared at her for a second or two, blinking himself awake. Sitting up, he swiped a heavy hand down his face, the rasp of whiskers against his palm the only sound between them. “Where the hell have you been?” he said, his voice cracked and uneven from lack of sleep.
She shrugged. “How long you been here?” she said, reaching out to pick at what looked like a ketchup stain on his pant leg. It flaked off—Lord knew how long it’d been there.
“All night. Your turn.”He dropped his feet to the floor, jerking the stain away from her fingers, forcing her to focus on him and what they were talking about.
She sighed. “You know that B&B O’Shea stayed at while he was here?” She waited for her him to nod. “I’m staying there.”
“He back?” Strickland said, his jaw clenched as tight as his tone. It wasn’t jealousy that had him asking. It was the fact that he blamed Michael for everything that’d happened to her over the past eight months.
“No… I just needed some quiet.” She looked at him, suddenly feeling lost, hoping he’d understand without asking her to explain. He did.
Strickland nodded. “You need to call Val. She’s beside herself. The second you walked out, she crawled up my ass—said you just disappeared. I camped out here, knew you’d show up eventually.”
“Yeah, did she tell you I left because she invited Croft in for afternoon tea?”
Strickland went still. “She failed to mention that part.”
“I’m not surprised.” Val was stubborn but not stupid. Some part of her knew what she’d done was wrong.
“Did she explain why?”
“Because she thinks I’m gonna crack up again. Says I need to talk about it.” She shook her head at the look that settled on Strickland’s face. “She’s wrong. I’m fine. And I don’t need to talk about anything.”
The Sabrina Vaughn series Set 1 Page 35
