“This guy,” Seth said, handing over a grainy printout of the mystery man talking to Brooke at the Chapel.
“You’re kidding, right?” the tech said, squinting at the printout. “Don’t you have anything better? I mean, I can’t tell anything from this.”
True. There was no way of telling what the guy looked like—eye color, facial features, or tattoos. The resolution of the camera was shit.
“He’s a white male, clean-shaven, six feet tall, dark hair. It’s the best we’ve got,” Seth said.
“Right. That narrows it down.” The tech shook his head and glanced back at Seth. “I’ll call you when I’ve got something.”
“Thanks,” Seth said, heading back to his office.
Gripping his car keys tight in his hand, he yanked open his desk drawer. Holly’s face stared up at him. Her pretty smile pierced his heart, and suddenly he was thinking about the pain he’d seen in Marissa’s eyes. With one daughter missing, the last thing she needed was Kelly’s fit of teenage rebellion. But life was like that. Just when you thought things couldn’t get worse, they did.
He slammed the drawer shut and rubbed his eyes.
“Crawford.”
Seth glanced up. Lieutenant Alvarez cut across the busy squad room, angling directly toward him. Before he even opened his mouth, Seth knew what he wanted.
“Catch me up to speed on the Parker case.”
“We’ve got a couple potential suspects. First up is Charles Sully, the ex-con who was hitting on Brooke at the bar.”
“You talk to him?”
“He lied about meeting Brooke at the bar. Says he knows nothing about her disappearance. He’s got a record, convictions for solicitation and domestic assault. According to the forensic psychiatrist, Sully’s a bit of a head case.”
“Does he feel like our guy?”
“Too soon to say, but there is something definitely off about him. Just need to figure out what. Then there’s the mystery man Brooke was talking to at the bar.”
“ID him yet?”
Seth shook his head.
“Not yet. The surveillance footage from the Chapel is useless. I’ll call Tess Turner . . .”
“Parker’s roommate?”
Seth nodded.
“I’ll have her come down to the station to work with an artist.”
“Good. What else?”
“Holt’s hired a super-geek to crawl through Parker’s social media site to see what he can find out.”
“Like what?”
“Don’t know, but maybe Cahill will find something useful.”
“I suppose it’s worth a shot. What about the girl’s condition?”
Inwardly Seth cringed. He didn’t like to think about how Brooke might be suffering without her medication. Investigating the disappearance of a teenager was scary enough. The extra pressure of trying to find a teenage diabetic magnified the ticking of the clock in his head. Each passing hour could mean life or death for Brooke.
“Well, if she’s got her insulin pen with her, she’ll be able to squeak by for a few more days.”
“And if she doesn’t?”
Seth shrugged. If Brooke didn’t have access to her insulin, she might already be in a coma, or worse. He didn’t need to spell it out for the lieutenant.
“And the mother?”
“She’s holding it together. Barely.”
“The chief wants your daily report. It’s late.”
“I know.”
“Get on it.”
“Yes, sir.”
Alvarez strode back to his office. Seth picked up his cell phone and dialed Tess’s number. He got her voice mail.
“Tess, I need you to come down to the station.” His landline rang. “Call me when you get this,” he said, and picked up. “Crawford.”
The panic in Marissa’s voice drilled an ice pick of dread into his chest. She was talking so fast he could barely understand a word she was saying. He pitched his voice low and calm as he interrupted her.
“Hold on. Slow down. Tell me again what happened.”
“It’s Kelly,” Marissa said. “Kelly’s gone.”
Seth slumped back in his chair. Seriously? The odds of two girls disappearing from the same family were slim to none. After fighting with her mother, Kelly was probably out blowing off steam. Quite likely Marissa was overacting. Still, he couldn’t ignore the situation.
“Tell me everything.”
He closed his eyes and listened intently while Marissa relayed the events since he’d left her house a few hours ago.
“What’s her cell phone number?”
Seth scribbled the number down on a note pad and made her promise to call if anything changed. He grabbed his car keys and headed for the door.
#
The kitchen smelled like Pine-Sol and cigarettes. Marissa’s red-rimmed eyes looked huge and frightened in her pale face, and Seth followed her down the hallway to the back of the house, where the bedrooms were located.
The door to Kelly’s bedroom yawned open. The dove-gray walls were covered with posters. Above the bed hung a framed picture of a gothic angel, ragged white wings against a stormy purple-and-black sky. Laptop and books on the desk. Clothes on the floor. Messy. A typical kid’s room.
Seth scanned the room slowly, methodically, not wanting to miss a single detail.
“She’s not answering her phone,” Marissa said.
She stood close to him, looking small and frightened. He looked past her, his gaze darting to the window. He stepped over Kelly’s orange backpack, pulled the sleeve of his leather jacket up over his hand, and slid the window wide. The peeling paint on the white frame didn’t look damaged. There were no locks on the window, and it didn’t look as if it had been jimmied from the outside.
“Is there anything missing?” he asked.
“No. I don’t know. I . . .”
“Has she ever taken off before?”
Seth heard a choking sound and he turned. Marissa’s hand covered her mouth. Tears streamed unchecked down her cheeks. He sighed. He rounded the bed and clasped her shaking shoulders in his hands.
“It’s going to be okay,” he said. “We’ll find her.”
Marissa’s head tipped forward, falling softly against his chest, and nestled in the curve of his shoulder like it belonged there.
She smelled like lilacs in springtime. It had been so long since he’d held a woman. Not since his wife. The heat of her body against him stirred long-dormant feelings in him, and he knew this was wrong. He knew he should let her go, but he didn’t want to. His fingers burrowed into her silky hair, and he breathed in the sweet floral scent of her for a few seconds more. Finally he gripped Marissa’s shoulders and eased her away.
She swiped her eyes. Mascara smudged the backs of her shaking hands. Seth turned away, searching for a box of tissues. Spying one on the desk, he plucked two and handed them to her.
“I’m sorry. I’m usually not this much of a mess . . .”
The phone rang, cutting her off.
The color drained from her face. Seth grabbed the cordless phone off Kelly’s desk and hit the talk button.
“Hello,” he said.
“May I speak to Marissa?”
It was a man’s voice. His eyes swung toward Marissa. She looked as stiff as a statue, with her hand clamped over her mouth, as if stifling a scream.
“And you are?”
“Logan Rooney.”
Chapter 30
Marissa splashed cold water on her face. The faucet hissed as she met her stare in the mirror. She looked like hell. Pale. Frightened. Dark circles puffed like bruises beneath her eyes. After turning the water off, she grabbed the white hand towel and dried her skin. She folded the towel neatly and hung it on the rack beside the handmade glass sink.
Kelly was hiding upstairs, afraid to face her, and Marissa felt like the worst parent in the world. She’d failed Kelly, and her daughter had run straight to the one person she still trusted. Logan.
&
nbsp; Emerging from the bathroom, she smelled the faint scent of flowers and honey, a sure sign that Logan had brewed some chamomile tea—something to soothe her frayed nerves. But her nerves weren’t just frayed; they were ragged, more in need of Valium than tea.
Logan leaned against the counter, his tanned arms folded. He looked fresh, like he’d just finished a game of tennis at the club, while she looked like she’d been dragged through the wringer.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
Marissa squelched an absurd urge to laugh, scream, cry. No, she wasn’t okay. She was nowhere close to okay. Her life was a mess.
“Any news on Brooke?”
She shook her head.
“Oh, Marissa. I’m so sorry.”
Logan poured them each a mug of tea and sat down at the dining room table. Marissa perched on the chair and wrapped her chilled fingers around the steaming glass mug, wishing the tea were something stronger.
Everywhere she looked she saw the elegant trappings of the life she’d left behind. The sleek modern furniture. The gleaming bamboo floors. The small telltale signs of luxury her new life no longer afforded.
No wonder Kelly resented her.
And as much as she didn’t want to drag Logan into their drama, Kelly had given her no choice.
“I suppose Kelly told you what happened.”
“She said some girls attacked her at school.”
“I had to go to the police station to pick her up. She had a knife.”
Logan landed the first blow.
“She must have been really scared to have brought a knife to school.”
Marissa winced. Leave it to him to consider Kelly’s motivations while she’d just gone postal.
“Yeah, and I yelled at her,” Marissa admitted, regretting her choices. Hating herself.
“Don’t be too hard on yourself. I don’t know how you’re holding it together.”
Logan placed his hand on her arm. While part of her wanted someone to lean on, she couldn’t forget the reasons she’d left. Marissa straightened away, and Logan’s hand fell back to the table.
“She’s probably going to be expelled.”
“I’d like to help,” he said at last.
“Help? How?”
“Let Kelly stay with me for a while. I’ll call the school, see if I can smooth things over.”
Gentleness was Logan’s weapon of choice, and it had always been her undoing. Marissa wished it could be that easy. She needed help. Crawford had said that just a few short hours ago and he was right. She did need help. But Logan?
“I can’t let Kelly go. We’re family. We have to find a way to work things out. She’s my daughter, Logan, and you’re just . . .”
“Your ex,” he finished for her, looking resigned.
“She’s not your daughter.”
“You’ve said that already. Look, there’s no way you can handle everything yourself.”
“And you think you can? You think being a single parent is easy? You think . . . ?”
Marissa stopped herself. None of this was Logan’s fault. All he wanted to do was help, and here she was yelling at him, her anger and fear pouring out in a torrent of ugly words.
Damn Logan for being so sane. Damn him for being so . . . so right.
“Mom.”
Kelly appeared at the bottom of the staircase.
Marissa sprang to her feet and threw her arms around Kelly, never wanting to let go. Kelly hesitated. Slowly her arms circled around Marissa’s back.
“Thank God you’re okay.”
With Marissa’s arm still looped around Kelly’s shoulders, they walked side by side back to the table. Kelly sat between her and Logan. Marissa wanted to speak, but she held back, remembering Detective Crawford’s advice.
Just listen.
It sounded easier than it actually was. There was so much she wanted to say. Even so, she waited.
“I’m sorry I left without telling you. I just needed someone to talk to.”
The words landed like a punch to the gut.
“Why don’t you tell your mom what you told me?” Logan prompted softly.
Kelly swallowed. She stole a quick glance at Logan, who nodded reassuringly, before she spoke.
“Mom, I can’t go back to that school. Those girls . . . I don’t think today’s the end of it. I don’t know how they’re going to react. It will be worse next time. I know it. Then there’s Brooke. You have to help find her. You can’t do that if you’re worried about me.”
Dread settled at the pit of Marissa’s stomach. She knew where this was going. Kelly was building a case, and as much as she wanted to, Marissa couldn’t argue the facts. Kelly wasn’t safe at school and would quite likely be expelled. And with Brooke missing . . .
“I want to stay here for a while. At least until we figure out the school situation. I think it would be best for everyone.”
If she let Kelly go now, would she ever come back? It was an impossible choice. Bone-tired, Marissa turned her gaze on Logan.
“What about your job?”
“I’ll take time off,” he said. “Look, I know you’re still angry with me, Marissa, but please let me help. I can’t help you find Brooke, but I can be here for Kelly. I can do this, if you let me.”
She knew Logan was sincere. She knew staying here was probably the best thing for Kelly right now. Still, she couldn’t stand the thought of going back to that house. Alone. She’d go crazy. All of those silent hours to fill while she waited for some break in Brooke’s case, for some word about whether her daughter was alive or dead. But that was selfish.
She stared into Kelly’s hopeful face. Years flashed by in an instant—teddy bears and pigtails, lesson books and skinned knees—a lifetime full of memories.
“You can stay,” she whispered.
“Thank you, Mom.”
Kelly threw both arms around Marissa, and they held on to each other for a long moment. Finally Marissa pulled back and cleared her throat.
“Honey, I need to speak to Logan. Alone.”
“Okay,” she said. Kelly wiped the tears from her eyes and cast a quick glance over her shoulder before climbing the staircase.
“I’ll do this, Logan,” she said, once Kelly was out of earshot, “but you have to tell her the truth.”
A pained expression crossed Logan’s face. He closed his eyes and slowly nodded.
“I’ll tell her everything,” he promised.
Chapter 31
East of the highway, the crumbling forestry roads were bumpy and slick. He turned off the radio, needing to focus. The headlights cast a narrow band of light, showing the way ahead as he wound his way toward the valley floor. He parked down at the main camp, not daring to drive all the way in. It was too wet down here. Getting stuck would spell disaster. It wasn’t like he could just call AAA for a tow.
The heaving engine died. He pulled the key from the ignition and stepped out of the vehicle.
The woods came alive at night. As far back as he could remember, he’d loved the smell of pine trees in the cold air. Slinging the strap of the cooler across his shoulder, he gripped the flashlight in his hand but didn’t turn it on. The dark welcomed him like a friend, enveloping him like a thick black cloak as he walked through the trees by memory.
The spongy earth dampened the sound of his boots, and with each step his anticipation grew. Each sense was heightened, which made him feel more awake, more alive. Darkness unfurled inside him. Out here he didn’t have to hide who he was. Out here he was God. He held the power of life and death in his hands. The more they begged, pleaded, prayed, the more he liked it. Fear was addictive. Fear was power. Fear was a chalice full of tears, salty and delicious on his tongue. And once he had tasted it, there was nothing else like it in the whole world.
Rain fell through the trees in an ancient rhythm, an atonal symphony as old as the forest. Halfway through the stand of trees, he heard a noise behind him—a discordant note in an otherwise perfect movement. He stopped.
Without the flashlight it was impossible to see more than a few feet in any direction. He turned and listened. Ears strained.
The trees rustled in the wind.
It was probably just an animal looking for food, maybe a deer. Winter was closing in. Any day now the snow would start flying, choking off the forestry roads, and hunting season would end.
He heard the noise again and picked up the pace, knowing full well he wasn’t the only dangerous thing out here. A wolf’s keen sense of smell would pick up on the food in the cooler in no time. Best get moving. There were two girls waiting for him—one whose time was coming to an end, and the other whose time was just beginning.
The dense line of evergreens broke up ahead. He could make out the shadowy forms of the cabins in the distance and he felt himself stir.
A week, maybe two, then he’d have to give up the game. The new one wouldn’t last very long, but tonight . . . tonight was his. Tonight he would get everything he wanted, and the other girl would get to watch. Learn. See the kind of fun she was in for before the grand finale.
The porch floorboards creaked beneath the tread of his heavy boots. He stuck the key in the lock. He felt the slow, grinding clack of the metal lock disengaging.
Darkness engulfed the cabin. He swung the beam of his flashlight around the room, illuminating the small space in bright slices of light.
His heart lurched. The cooler clattered to his feet, spilling water bottles and plastic-wrapped sandwiches across the bare plank floor.
“Jesus Christ,” he roared, not believing his eyes. “Jesus fucking Christ.”
Chapter 32
Kim’s lifeless body hung from a six-inch nail protruding from a beam. How? How the hell had she done it? Then he saw. The gag. The fucking gag. The other bitch must have worked the gag from Kim’s mouth, and Kim had used it as a noose.
But how? How had she gotten all the way up there? She must have climbed up on the bed, hooked the noose around the nail and then let go.
Son of a fucking bitch.
His heart slammed like a jackhammer against his rib cage. He cast his wild gaze around the room until he found her. Crouched underneath a blanket—thinking what? He wouldn’t see her? She was safe? Fuck that.
In the Dark Page 17
