Waiting In Darkness: A Sabrina Vaughn Thriller (The Sabrina Vaughn Series Book 1)

by Maegan Beaumont

  “You go to Yuma high?” a voice reached up from the table, grabbing her attention. She glanced away from her order pad and frowned at the boy who’d done the talking. He was good-looking in the same effortless way that Jed had been. Letterman jacket and clean fingernails. Arrogant smile and soft hands. The girl sitting next to him glared at her through narrowed eyes, staking claim on something she’d be crazy not to want.

  It was like friggin’ Groundhog Day.

  “No.” she cut her gaze away from him to fix it on the girl hanging off his jacket like a monkey. “What can I get you to drink?” She smiled sweetly at her. The girl looked like she wanted to stab her with a fork.

  “Diet Coke,” she said, like she was stupid for even asking.

  “You?” she said, aiming reluctant attention at the boy between them.

  “Root beer,” he said. “My name’s Andy... you sure you don’t go to Yuma?”

  “Positive.” She tucked her order pad into the front pocket of her apron. “I’ll get these right out to you,” she said before she turned away.

  “Wait,” he called out, grabbing onto the back of her uniform. His hand landed squarely on her ass, stopping her in her tracks.

  She turned on him, slapping his hand away as she did. “What?” she bit out, her tone hard and loud enough to stall the round of rowdy conversation that floated around the table. Now they all stared at her like she was crazy while Andy went palms up with a good-natured show of teeth, meant to make him look harmless. She recognized his kind. Knew he was anything but.

  “What’s your name?” he said, shooting a look around the table to make sure he had everyone’s attention.

  She aimed a deliberate look down at the shamrock embroidered on the pocket of her uniform. Her name was stitched across the green in white, loopy cursive. “Guess they don’t teach ‘em how to read in Gila Bend, huh, dumbass?” she said, cutting him a dismissive look, her comment caused a ripple in the collective that watched the exchange.

  “Wow...” Andy’s grin faltered, going caustic at its corners. “What’s your problem?”

  “My problem?” She stepped into him, fists clenched and he shrank away from her. “My problem is I don’t like my ass being grabbed by some spoiled—”

  “Okaaay—we’ll get those drinks right out for you guys,” Val said, swooping in out of nowhere to pull her away from the table and she let her, glaring at the ass-grabber the whole way. “What the hell, Melissa?” she hissed at her as soon as she had her properly cornered behind the counter.

  “He grabbed my ass.” The words scraped out, ground against the anger piled high in her throat.

  Val goggled her wide brown eyes at her and flipped her hands, suddenly impatient with her. “And how is that different from any other Friday night?”

  It wasn’t. He was. Instead of explaining, she just shook her head. “I told you I wasn’t up for it,” she said, shoveling ice into glasses and filling them with random soft drinks.

  Val sighed, rubbing a hand across her forehead. “You did. I’m sorry,” she said, pitching in to help. “Is everything okay?”

  No. “Everything’s fine. I’m just tired.” She hadn’t had a day off in weeks. Usually she was happy to have the work but right now she felt thin. Stretched and pulled in every direction. Poked full of holes, like she couldn’t hold onto anything worth having. She’d talked to her grandmother today.

  “Tommy?” Val said the name like she knew him and maybe she did. Melissa had talked about him enough. Told her new friend everything that’d happened... or almost everything. She’d left out the part about how she’d killed her mother’s boyfriend. That wasn’t really something you mentioned when you were trying to make friends.

  She didn’t answer—just nodded. When she’d talked to Lucy, she’d asked her the same questions she always did. Was Tommy okay? Did he talk about her? Did he blame her? Hate her? The answers were always the same and they never put her in a good mood.

  “Why don’t you go home,” Val said, shooting a glance at the clock above the drink station. She still had thirty minutes left on her shift.

  She felt herself bend but ended up refusing. “I can’t just leave before—”

  “Yes you can,” Val said, shoving her toward the break room. “I can hold it down until the next shift gets here. Go home, take a bath. Get a good nights’ sleep. We’ll talk in the morning.”

  She hesitated but only for a moment before she sighed. “Okay,” she said, shuffling toward the break room to retrieve her sweater. When she came out Val was nowhere to be seen so she left without saying goodbye.

  She’d almost cleared the dumpster that crowded the back door when a figure stepped out of the shadows, wrapped in cigarette smoke. She stopped short, her heart slamming against her throat.

  He’d found her.

  “Damn girl, you alright?” a voice said as the figure stepped into the small circle of light that shined down on the dumpster. It was Manny, one of their busboy. The one who’d given her the lead on her apartment and helped her get her fake driver’s license. He was scheduled to work the 2-10 AM shift.

  She blew out a relieved breath, gave him what felt like a shaky smile. “I thought you quit,” she said, angling an arched brow at the cigarette in his hand and he laughed.

  “I’m trying but it’s hard,” he said, taking a final drag before dropping the butt to grind it into the dirt. “You taking off?”

  “Yeah,” she said. It was close enough to the end of her shift that her ducking out early wouldn’t raise any eyebrows. “See you tomorrow.”

  She moved past him, clearing the corner of the dumpster before he spoke again. “Hey, before I forget—there was some guy in here looking for you.”

  The words stopped her in her tracks and she turned to find Manny looking at her, a curious expression on his face. They were all curious about where she’d come from but knew better than to ask. “When? Tonight?”

  “Nah, it was a few days ago...” He gave her a sheepish smile. “We were slammed so I forgot to mention it before I left.” He’d been off for the past two days. This would have been the first opportunity he’d had to tell her.

  “What did he look like?” she heard herself ask, her voice sounding small and far away.

  “Like a white guy.” Manny shrugged. “White guy hair. White guy clothes—jeans, college sweatshirt.”

  Her vision constricted, narrowing in on the dark that loomed behind Manny, outside the circle of light he stood in.

  “What color was the sweatshirt?” she said. She could still see him, standing outside her window, face hidden, hand outstretched. Blood smeared fingers pressed against the glass. “Was it green?”

  “I don’t know... maybe.” He shrugged, suddenly disinterested. It wasn’t the first time a customer had asked him about one of the waitresses. “Look, I should get inside,” he said hiking his thumb over his shoulder. “You sure you’re gonna be alright?”

  She wasn’t going to be alright but she smiled anyway. “I’m okay,” she said, turning away from him. “Thanks, Manny,” she said before she headed out into the dark.

  TWENTY-SIX

  HE WATCHED HER. Smiling and laughing. Joking with the other waitress who seemed to be more friend than co-worker. He found her by accident—or maybe it was fate that stepped in and showed him the way. Led him to her. Gave him a second chance. Whatever it was, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that she was here. That, after months of searching, he’d finally found her.

  Watching her now, she seemed content. At ease. Comfortable—like she’d finally settled in. Like she was happy. She seemed to have forgotten all about him. About what’d happened.

  And that pissed him off.

  As late as it was, the restaurant was crowded. Drunk kids and down-and-out musicians. Truckers and travelers who preferred to drive at night to avoid traffic and the heat of the day. He blended in perfectly, ball cap pulled low on his face. Non-script jacket. Backpack at his feet. Just another guy, pass
ing through.

  “Can I get you anything else? Coffee re-fill? Dessert?”

  He looked up to find his pretty little Mexican waitress standing over him, the name Valerie, stitched across her uniform. She lifted his near-empty plate off the table, assessing him with deep brown eyes. Too bad they weren’t blue... but for her, he’d make an exception.

  “More coffee’d be great, thanks.” He grinned up at her, turning on the charm while she filled his cup. “Got any peach pie?”

  “Peach?” she said, shaking her head, offering him a cute little frown. “Not around here... we’ve got apple, coconut cream, chocolate and cherry.”

  “Cherry it is,” he said, looking up at her long and hard enough to make her blush.

  “Comin’ right up.” She put a swish in her hips when she walked away, shooting him an over-the-shoulder smile before she disappeared behind the counter.

  Melissa appeared a few moments later, carrying a tray of ice waters for the wannabe rock stars sitting in her station. He watched her chat them up for a few seconds before she turned her attention on the large group of teenagers that’d swarmed a nearby table. Nine of them—all drunk to varying degrees. Self-absorbed assholes. The girls snubbed her while the guys fucked her with their eyes.

  Home sweet home.

  One of them kept trying to talk to her. Hit on her. His attention focused, he didn’t notice his waitress until she was standing over him again, a wedge of bright red pie held in one hand, a can of Redi-whip in the other. “Whipped cream?” she said, the curve of her mouth offering a bit more.

  He tore his eyes away from the scene that was unfolding behind her and nodded. “You readin’ my mind, darlin’?”

  Now she laughed. “I sure hope—”

  Behind her, he watched the boy who’d been making attempts at flirting with Melissa reach out and grab her, his hand catching hold of the back of her uniform. Closing over her ass for a split second before she turned on him, eyes snapping blue fire.

  “I think your girl’s about to clean someone’s clock.” He said it like what was happening didn’t affect him one way or the other. Like the guy who’d touched her hadn’t just signed his own death warrant.

  “Oh, shit—excuse me,” Valerie said. Their flirtation forgotten, she crossed the restaurant at a near run, wrangling Melissa away from the table. Pulling her back behind the counter. When Valerie came back a few minutes later, she was alone.

  He’d had plans. For her. For them. Been laying them for weeks now, ever since he’d found her. Found a place for them to be alone. Dark and quiet. A place no one would hear her scream... but they’d have to wait. He suddenly had more pressing matters to attend to.

  He ate his pie. Flirted with the waitress. All the while he waited for a sign that they were finished. That they were leaving. When Melissa’s friend brought them their check an hour later, he stood. Dropping enough bills on the table to cover his food plus a hefty tip, he left but he didn’t go far. He waited in the parking lot for the kid to walk out of the restaurant. Watched as he and a few of his friends piled into a car and sped off. Then he followed him.

  WHEN they finally pulled into a deserted gas station about an hour and a half later, he kept going. Killing his lights, he circled around, using the entrance on the other side. Parking across the lot, in the shadow of the building, he watched the dome light come on in the car as someone popped the passenger-side door open. It was him. The kid who’d grabbed Melissa’s ass. He watched him lope across the parking lot, too stupid or too drunk to realize how dangerous it was to go traipsing off into a gas station bathroom by yourself so late at night. Probably both.

  Too bad for him.

  Reaching into the glove box, he pulled out his knife along with a pair of gloves. He hadn’t used them with Jenny or Onewolf. Nothing had come of either but he knew the odds. Unless you were careful, the more you killed, the more likely you were to get caught. Getting caught now would ruin everything.

  Careful to dial down his own dome light, he opened his car door and stepped out into the darkness. He strode across the parking lot, emboldened by the truth. This was supposed to happen. This was his destiny—she was his destiny—and nothing was going to stop him.

  He pushed his gloved hand against the door, opening it just a bit, slipping inside. The door made noise when it closed.

  “Fuck, bro... I’m wasted.” He’d heard him but didn’t turn around. Probably thought he was one of his buddies. He grinned—fought hard to suppress the laughter that snuck up on him. There were two stalls and a urinal. The asshole was in the furthest stall. He could see the back of his head peeking above the partition, shoulder slumped against it.

  It was almost embarrassing, how easy it all was.

  The door to the stall swung free—the lock probably broken. He pushed at it, letting it swing into the back of the asshole’s legs, knocking him off balance and he reached out to catch himself. “Quit being a dick,” the kid slurred at him, pushing the door back at him with his shoulder. About twenty yards away he could hear the rest of them laughing and joking, the radio turned up so loud there was no way they could possibly hear what was going on outside the car.

  He pushed again, this time hard enough to send his prey into the wall, sprawled against the toilet. “What the fuck’s your prob—”

  He gripped the back of his letterman jacket and spun him around, shoving at him until he was stuck in between the wall and toilet. “What’s your name?” he said, face pushed so close he could smell chicken wings and beer on his breath.

  “What?” The asshole breathed more beer fumes in his face, the word pushed out on a panicked huff, gaze suddenly clear.

  “Your. Name.” He brought his knife up, pressing it into the tender flesh just beneath his eye. “What is it?”

  “And—Andy... I’m Andy. Andy Shepard.” he stuttered it out, his face and the shoulder he gripped stone-still while the lower half of him jerked and twisted. He looked down to see that his query’s foot was stuck in the toilet bowl, pants wet and twisted up around his ankles.

  It was too much. He started to laugh, big gaffs pushed out so hard he had to lean against the asshole to keep himself upright. “Oh, Jesus...” he said, finally managing to straighten himself, putting enough pressure on the tip of the knife to push through flesh. To draw blood. “Andy the Asshole.” He nodded. Letting his laughter die away, he pulled the blade away from the kid’s eye and smiled. “I like it.”

  In a swift move born from years of practice, he drove his knife in deep—a single upward thrust that instantly punctured the asshole’s lung—robbing him of his ability to scream for help. The things he killed, most of them hadn’t been human but they still made noise. Killing quiet was something he’d had to learn.

  He let Andy fall to the floor, blood pouring from the single wound. Face mashed against the dirty tile. Foot still stuck in the toilet.

  “Someone needed to teach you some manners, Andy. You can’t just go around touchin’ what don’t belong to you,” he said.

  “Ssss... Ssss...”

  “What’s that?” He hunkered down next to him, head cocked.

  “Ssss... Ssss...” Andy the Asshole said again, sounding like someone had let the air out of his tires. It took him a few seconds to realize what he was doing.

  He was trying to say sorry.

  “It’s alright—I accept your apology,” he said, reaching out to clap the kid on the shoulder. Then he stepped on his forearm, pinning it to the floor.

  Wrapping his hand around the kid’s wrist he gave it a jerk, snapping it in two. He used the serrated edge of his knife to hack through the meat of his arm, separating it from the rest of his body.

  Twin pools of blood merged into one, surrounding his boot. He straightened from the crouch he was in and reached over to pull a paper towel from the machine next to the sink. He wiped his knife clean while in the parking lot, loud music blared. Children, playing at being adults, laughing and clowning. Waiting for their friend whil
e seconds ticked by. Sooner or later, one of them would come looking for him.

  He dropped the severed limb into the trashcan by the door before gathering up the liner and knotting its top. Slinging it over his shoulder, Andy’s hand slapped against his back—congratulating him on another job well done

  .

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  SUNDAY AND MONDAY WERE her days off and for once, she didn’t offer to work. She took the twins to the park. Went to the grocery store and cleaned their apartment. Bought a sewing machine at a yard sale for fifteen dollars—Val’s mom was going to teach her to sew. Hand sewing—something Lucy had taught her years ago—was a breeze but time-consuming. Learning how to use a machine was something she’d always wanted to do.

  “She never offered to teach me,” Val grumbled, stabbing her fork into the chicken salad she’d built herself from the all-you-can-eat salad bar. It was Tuesday and she was back at work, feeling more like herself than she had in months.

  “She’s afraid to. You can’t even operate the washing machine by yourself,” she laughed, dipping an onion ring in ketchup before biting it in half. “The last time you did, you flooded the entire laundry room.”

  “That stupid machine was broken,” Val said in an indignant tone, at total odds with the grin that kept creeping up on her face.

  They were in the break room at Luck’s, taking advantage of the thirty-minute lunch and one free meal they got per shift. It was almost time to go back to work.

  Before she could answer, Manny popped his head in. “Someone’s here to see you,” he said. He was looking directly at her.

  “Me?” she said, dropping the other half of her onion ring. She thought about the man Manny had told her about. The one who’d been looking for her. “Is it—”

  He shook his head, answering her before she could even ask. “It’s a cop.”

  A police officer. Here. To see her.

  She looked at Val, her stomach squeezing around the BLT and onion rings she’d just eaten, and instantly felt ill. What if it was her father? What if he’d finally come to arrest her for what she’d done to Pete?