by Rita Herron
The girls had been beautiful alive, but more so in death. They resembled angels floating in the water.
But they hadn’t been angels. Not until he saved them.
To do that, they’d had to die.
CHAPTER FIVE
Dread balled in Ian’s stomach. He wasn’t looking forward to his conversation with Agent Fields, but he had to talk to her. Any detail she remembered could be useful.
Director Vance stood. “Now we’ll hear from Peyton.”
Peyton stood. “I’ve set up a central site where I’ll post spreadsheets, a timeline, and information as we gather it. We need all eyes searching for connections to the victims and their families. Establishing a timeline for the deaths and locations where the girls were abducted should give us insight into where and how the killer chooses his victims.”
“Since the killer buried the girls near Graveyard Falls, have you looked at those cabins on the river where the film crew and my agents stayed before?” Director Vance asked Ian. “Maybe he’s staying out there.”
Irritation gnawed at Ian. “Of course we checked them. But I don’t think the killer would stay so close to town. These mountains are full of old houses and shanties, places off the grid.”
“Then have your deputies search the town and mountains for abandoned cabins, old homesteads, anyplace where our unsub might be hiding out,” Director Vance said. “If Gleason is our unsub, he’s had plenty of time to get to know the area.”
Ian folded his arms. Dammit, Vance had to bring the suspicion back to his father.
Beth tapped her fingernails on the table. “With at least one of the victims from Kentucky, we can’t assume the unsub lives close by. He could have killed the girls in different locations and then dumped them in Graveyard Falls to throw off suspicion in case the bodies were discovered.”
Ian followed her train of thought. Sweetwater, Lexington, Chattanooga—all were in close proximity to I-75, a major interstate that ran all the way from Georgia to Tennessee to Kentucky.
“True. He could be traveling up and down the highway,” Peyton pointed out. “That’s another reason we need to ID the victims as quickly as possible, find their families and their hometowns.” She indicated the photo of the latest victim. “Since her kill is fresher, maybe someone saw something.”
“Talking to the girl who survived is imperative,” Agent Hamrick said.
The director spoke. “Agent Fields has already established contact with Jane Jones and will follow up on that lead.”
Gratitude flickered in Beth’s eyes as she and the director exchanged a look. Ian stiffened. The director knew her real identity.
Odd that he’d allowed her to come here and work the case anyway.
Ian gestured to Beth. “I’d like to talk to Agent Fields in the hall, please.”
Beth stood. “Certainly.”
Without waiting for him, she strode into the hall. Before he proceeded he had to find out Beth’s agenda.
If she knew more than she was saying, it was time she filled him in.
Through the glass window, Beth spotted the bones spread on the tables in the bone room.
Sunny was in there.
A soul-deep ache throbbed inside Beth. She could see Sunny’s pretty blonde hair blowing in the wind when they’d walked to school. See her collecting pennies and rubbing them as she made a wish.
She could hear Sunny’s soft giggles when they daydreamed about places they wanted to visit. Sunny had wanted to ride the Ferris wheel at the carnival and have a princess dress at her wedding one day.
Now there was nothing left but bones.
She could have been lying on that table, too.
The question that had tormented her for years nagged at her again. Why had the killer let her go?
Footsteps echoed behind her. She whirled around, braced for a confrontation. He closed the door and gestured toward a small office across the hall. Arms crossed, she lifted her chin and stepped inside.
“You are JJ, aren’t you, Beth?” he asked as he released the handle.
Her breath quickened. For so long, she’d tried to create a new identity. Seeing Ian and hearing that name resurrected old fears.
“Where have you been?” he asked as if her silence had confirmed what he already knew. “Why did you change your name?”
Beth held up a warning hand. “I don’t intend to be interrogated, Sheriff Kimball.”
A muscle ticked in Ian’s jaw. “This is not an interrogation. But you came to my town with a false name and are deceiving everyone in that room. I deserve an explanation.”
“You deserve it?” Beth bit out. “You blamed me for your father’s arrest.”
Ian sucked in a sharp breath. “I didn’t blame you for anything,” he said. “I just believed my father was innocent. Maybe if the police hadn’t been so quick to throw the book at my father, they would have found another suspect.”
Beth twisted her hands together. “I wish I could tell you what you want to hear, but I don’t remember any more today than I did fifteen years ago.”
Ian raised a brow as if suspicious. “Nothing?”
The image of a man’s hand flashed back. Then dark eyes.
“No.” The image blurred. “I saw a therapist to help me recover the memories, but it didn’t work. She suggested I change my name to protect myself.” After all, her name and picture had been plastered all over the TV and in the papers.
“You changed your hair color to disguise yourself, too,” he said matter-of-factly.
Beth nodded. “You have no idea what it was like to have everyone, especially other teenagers, staring at me and whispering behind my back. They treated me like I was a freak. I didn’t want their questions or skepticism or pity.” She squared her shoulders. “I don’t want it now.”
“That’s not what this is about,” Ian said. “And I do know what it was like to have others stare at you. You’re forgetting that my family was ripped apart because of Kelly Cousins’s suicide, then because of your abduction and the trial.”
Beth swallowed hard. “I’m sorry. I . . . that wasn’t fair of me.”
Tension stretched between them for a long minute. Finally Ian broke the silence. “We can’t work together if you’re not honest.”
Anger seized Beth. “Like you’re being honest?” She folded her arms. “Are you going to tell the other agents that you knew me? That you were supposed to pick me up the night I was abducted? That your stepfather was convicted of my abduction?”
Ian’s lips compressed into a thin line. She hadn’t meant to say that, but the words just slipped out. Now they stood between them like a giant boulder that couldn’t be crossed.
It was the truth in all its ugliness.
Just like the ugliness Beth had lived with all her life.
Ian’s chest ached with the effort to breathe. He’d expected JJ—Beth—to hate him. Hell, he’d blamed himself for what had happened to her.
But the bitterness in her voice cut through him like a knife.
“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice gravelly with regret. She had no idea how tormented he’d been those three days she’d been missing. How nightmares of her shock-glazed face had dogged him.
He’d imagined the worst kind of torture.
Then the sheriff had hauled his father in for kidnapping.
His mother had been so caught up in her grief and shame, she’d fallen apart. Ian had tried to convince the authorities that they were wasting precious time by not searching for other suspects.
But more than one authority figure suggested that he’d lied for his father.
With the crime happening in a small town and pressure from locals, the DA had moved quickly to prosecute his father. Ten months later, he’d been convicted. The judge had made an example of him and given him the maximum sentence.
Ian tried to visit, but his father refused to see him. He’d told Ian to get on with his life.
What life? His friends had turned against him.
> He went to live with his mother, but their differing opinions over his father’s guilt had caused a chasm between them. Then she’d joined that cult-like church, and the distance became greater. As soon as he was eighteen, he’d moved out.
Driven to clear his father, he’d signed up for the police academy. After the prison flooding, he’d moved to Graveyard Falls to search for his father.
No wonder his father had run after the flood. If he hadn’t, he’d have spent the rest of his life in jail.
“So do you know where your father is?”
“No. I moved to Graveyard Falls to look for him.”
“Have you found evidence to exonerate him?”
“Not yet, but I’ve studied the case files. Except for his partial print on that truck, which could have been planted, there was no concrete evidence that my father did anything but prevent me from driving his car that night. Think of all the students he helped over the years. He’s not a killer.” He pounded his chest. “He treated me like a son when I wasn’t even his kid.”
Beth ran a shaky hand over her hair. “I’m sorry, Ian. I never said that your father was the driver. I . . . honestly don’t know who was behind the wheel.”
Ian jammed his hands in his pockets. “If my father is innocent, then another man took you and Sunny.” He swallowed hard. “Another man who’s been free all this time to hunt and kill.”
“Don’t you think I know that?” she hissed. “I’m well aware that if I’d remembered what happened, I could have ensured that the right man went to jail. Every time I walk out the door, I wonder if my kidnapper is hunting me down. I look at men on the street and wonder if it was one of them instead of Coach.”
The agony in her tone tore at him. But it was a relief to hear that she wasn’t convinced of his father’s guilt. “Not a day has passed that I haven’t kicked myself for not picking up you and Sunny.”
Silence stood between them, thick with the pain of their admissions.
Finally Beth heaved a breath. “Look, Ian, we both want the same thing.” Her voice became a hushed whisper. “We both want the truth.”
He gave a clipped nod. “That’s the reason I became a cop.”
“And the reason I became an agent.” Beth straightened.
The door to the room squeaked open, and Director Vance appeared, Peyton behind him holding a laptop.
“We have to talk,” the director said.
Peyton set the computer on the desk and angled it toward them. “I ran a search on Jane Jones. She went to live in a group home near Knoxville after Coach Gleason’s trial, but six months later, it’s as if she disappeared. There’s no paper trail, no driver’s license, address, education, or job.”
Ian tensed. He and Beth couldn’t possibly lie to the people they worked with and expect the team to trust them.
Dammit—he hadn’t wanted anyone in town to know the reason he’d come here. But soon everyone would know.
Beth had seen Peyton working on her computer during their meeting but hadn’t realized what she’d been doing.
A photograph of JJ the day she’d been found on the side of the road was displayed on Peyton’s screen along with news articles and photos of her hospital stay.
Just as Peyton had used age-progression software on the victims, she’d done so on JJ, and a sketch appeared.
The resemblance was so accurate it was eerie. Her glasses were gone, but the heart-shaped face, slightly button nose, and deep-set eyes remained the same.
Beth forced herself to face the truth. She was foolish if she thought she could keep her identity from these trained experts. Finding missing people and murderers was their job.
Peyton’s voice softened. “Am I wrong, Special Agent Fields, or is this you?”
Beth had tried so hard to create a new identity. But finding Sunny’s body had thrust her back in time to when she was a confused teenager.
“Yes, it’s me,” she said, relieved that her voice held out. “I changed my name after the abduction.”
“I can understand that,” Peyton said sympathetically. “But the members of the team—they’re going to figure it out.”
Beth nodded. “I know. We were just discussing the situation.” In spite of her bravado, she gripped the desk edge.
The image of those bones flashed behind her eyes, then Sunny’s face the first time she’d met her when Sunny was ten and had come to live with the Otters.
She’d been so thin, so sickly. Beth had taken her under her wing, protected her.
Grief threatened to make her ill. If only she hadn’t gotten into that truck. She’d literally pushed Sunny into the cab with a killer.
She owed it to Sunny to find the bastard and make him pay.
Old man Croney, the algebra teacher with the big ears and buckteeth, droned on about x’s and y’s, but Priscilla Carson ignored him. She had other things on her mind.
Her argument this morning with her mama, for one. Prissy was almost fifteen now, and she wanted to go and do what she wanted to go and do.
Not be smothered by her mama’s questions and lectures about being a good girl.
Good girls didn’t get the hot guys or the breaks.
Besides, it wasn’t like her mama had been a good girl. Hell, she’d gotten knocked up at sixteen.
Prissy didn’t intend to shack up in a trailer with a loser like her mama. She wanted Blaine Emerson, and she would damn well have him. Blaine was smart and popular. He’d been voted Most Likely to Succeed. He was going places in life.
And she was going with him.
She giggled at the thought of finally giving her virginity to him. She’d been so excited when she told him that she nearly peed her pants.
When she gave herself to him, he’d be tied to her forever.
“Don’t forget your homework tonight,” the teacher said.
She had no intention of wasting time on boring homework.
She checked her watch. This day was dragging by.
It was hours till school was out. She’d packed her backpack with extra clothes this morning. After school she and Blaine planned to sneak off to one of the empty cabins in the woods by the creek. With all the flooding causing chaos and tearing up her mama’s trailer, she’d left a note saying she was going to spend the night with her friend Vanessa.
After all, Mama couldn’t expect her to sleep in the room with the tree sticking through the roof and the toilet backed up.
Her teacher kept yakking about the square root of something, and Prissy drew a big heart on her notebook paper and scribbled her initials and Blaine’s.
Prissy Emerson sounded good, so she wrote that name, then tried out variations. Mrs. Blaine Emerson. Mrs. Prissy Emerson. Blaine and Prissy Emerson.
Finally the lunch bell rang, and she hurried out to the tree by the breezeway, giddy. Blaine would be waiting on her.
Her hair flew around her face in the wind as she rushed to the big oak tree. The football players gathered on the steps and were huddled together discussing spring practice. The smokers hid behind the awning in the rear and acted cool as they passed a joint around. The cheerleaders were laughing and primping, talking about prom. A few nerds were playing with some robot one of them had made in science class.
A girl’s singsongy voice echoed nearby. She glanced over her shoulder and spotted Sari Hinkerton.
Prissy’s heart dropped to her knees.
Sari had her arms wrapped around Blaine’s neck, and he had his arms wrapped around her. Sari laughed, and then they fused their mouths in a lip lock. Blaine’s hand slid down to grope Sari’s butt. The two of them pulled apart just long enough for them to clasp hands.
Blaine tossed Prissy a grin. Then he and Sari raced toward his Camaro.
Disappointment and anger choked her, and tears blurred her eyes.
A chorus of “Poor Pissy Prissy” broke out as three of the popular girls chanted her name. Other kids snickered and laughed.
“Did you really think Blaine would go out with
you?” one of the girls said as she passed Prissy.
More tears burned Prissy’s eyes. She was such an idiot.
“Poor Pissy Prissy, Poor Pissy Prissy . . .” The chanting grew louder.
“Gonna piss your pants?” someone else said.
Humiliated, she clutched her backpack and ran toward the parking lot. She didn’t have a car, but she had to get out of here.
No way could she face the girls in PE, or Vanessa.
Vanessa had warned her that Blaine used girls. That he wasn’t interested in a geek like her.
But Prissy had loved him so much.
Swiping at her tears, she jogged toward the woods behind the school, diving deeper into the thicket of trees so no one would see her.
She sure as hell couldn’t go back to her mama and that drunken asshole she lived with.
Her calves ached as she ran, but rage drove her forward, and she jumped over tree stumps and broken limbs. She had to get as far away as she could. She hated this school and her family. Most of all she hated Blaine.
She broke through a clearing about two miles down the road and was huffing and puffing. Two cars passed by, but she ducked behind a tree to hide. Another two miles and she reached the city border. The sign welcomed folks to Graveyard Falls.
Stupid sign. Stupid people in this dumb-ass town.
A sedan raced by, and she cursed it. Lucky driver. He had a way out of this hellhole.
She made up her mind then and there. She was getting out.
Another two miles and she got a stitch in her side. She slowed, pressing her hand to her abdomen, and trudged on.
She tried to remember how far it was to the next town. About twenty miles, maybe.
The pain wouldn’t let up.
More tears threatened. She was getting a dad-gum blister.
A truck passed, then another.
She turned toward the road and stuck out her thumb. A black pickup barreled toward her. She jumped back as dirt and gravel pelted her. She yelled at the truck driver, and then he surprised her by slowing.
He screeched to a stop. Prissy hesitated.
Don’t be a scaredy-cat. This is your way out of Loserville and your screwed-up life.
