Deadly Dance (7 page)

“No,” Stephanie shook her head. “It was the opposite actually. She was really happy. It was Tony.”

“I thought you didn’t talk,” Hannah queried, more to keep the conversation going than because she thought Stephanie had anything to do with Sara’s disappearance.

“I said we weren’t close, but we do still live together. And I have eyes. Obviously I saw Tony coming and going. And she spent a lot of nights in his dorm room. I had to cover if her parents called.”

Hannah listened for any sign of jealousy. But except for a trace of resignation there seemed to be no malice. “So as far as you know, there was no reason for her to run off.”

“Even if there were, she wouldn’t do it. She’s the overly responsible type, you know? She’d never just disappear. She’d tell somebody. Just not me.”

“So who were her friends? Besides Tony, I mean. Who would she have confided in?”

“I don’t know,” Stephanie shook her head. “I truly don’t. She’s friends with pretty much everyone in the dorm.”

“Has anything unusual happened?” Harrison asked. “Something out of place. Mail, email. Or maybe someone nosing around?”

“No,” Stephanie shook her head. “I don’t think so.” She paused, a little frown marking her concentration. “Wait. There was something. An email, I think. Or maybe a podcast or an online post of some kind. Whatever it was, she found it on her computer.”

Harrison and Hannah exchanged a glance, the hair on Hannah’s arms rising. “So it could have been an mpeg?”

“I don’t know what that is.”

“It’s a computer suffix denoting a video.”

“Yeah, maybe… I don’t really know for sure. She didn’t want to talk about it. I just remember that she thought it was really weird. She said she was going to take it to Tony.”

“When was this?” Harrison probed.

“I don’t know, a day ago, maybe two.”

“Can you walk us through it? You’d be surprised at what you might remember.” Harrison moved over to the table, perching on the edge, his proximity meant to reassure her. “And anything you can tell us will be helpful.”

“I can try,” Stephanie said with a faint smile, her eyes locked on his. “Sara was sitting at her desk, and the computer beeped. She opened whatever it was and then frowned, clearly confused. I asked what was going on, and she said it was nothing and that she was going to talk to Tony. Then she left. I figured it was just something on Facebook.”

“So the last time you saw her was yesterday morning?” Harrison asked.

“Yes. Right before I left for home. She was on her way out the door—heading for class.”

“And there’s nothing in the room to indicate she got home. No books or anything that would indicate she made it back to the room from the library?”

“Nothing.” Stephanie shook her head, and this time she sounded positive. “She always carried everything in this big messenger bag. You know, the canvas kind you carry over your shoulder. And it’s definitely not in the room.”

“How about the computer?” Hannah asked. “Any chance it’s in the room?”

“No. And I actually checked. She’s got one of those notebooks, and she carries it with her everywhere—in the bag. She never goes anywhere without it.”

“Makes sense,” Harrison said. “But it was worth asking.” He smiled at her, and for the first time since they’d walked into the room, she relaxed, giving him a timid smile, a dimple playing at the corner of her mouth.

“You’ve really been a lot of help, Stephanie,” he continued. “And we just have one more thing we need to run by you. That okay?”

Despite the gravity of the situation, Hannah swallowed her own smile. Obviously Harrison had chosen to play the good cop.

Stephanie nodded. “I want to help. Really, I do.”

“Okay, then I need for you to look at this photograph and see if you recognize anything about it.” Harrison handed her his cell, the still of the bedroom from the video on the screen minus the man and woman.

Stephanie studied it and then shook her head. “I’ve never seen this place. Is it important?”

“We don’t know,” Harrison said. “We’re not even sure there’s a connection. We’re just trying to follow all possible leads. So nothing rings a bell?”

She moved the phone so that it was in direct light, her eyes on the screen. “No. I’m sorry.” She looked up at him, frowning, her eyes full of apology.

“No worries.” Harrison blew out a breath and reached for the phone. “It was a long shot, anyway.”

“Wait a minute,” Stephanie held out her hand, reaching for the phone. “Is there any way to enlarge the picture?”

“Sure,” Harrison said, his gaze locking with Hannah’s as he enlarged the frame. “Is this better?” He handed Stephanie the phone again.

“Yeah.” She nodded, as she squinted at the screen. “I don’t know if it helps, but isn’t that Sapphire Lake just outside the window?” The lake was about five miles from Sunderland and a popular student hangout.

“I’ll admit it looks like water,” Harrison said, shifting so that he could see better. “But there’s no reason to believe that it’s our lake.”

Hannah and Stephanie shook their heads in unison.

“You haven’t been here long enough,” Hannah said. “Sapphire Lake got its name for a reason. The water is saturated with a unique blend of minerals. They turn it a really deep blue. There’s nothing quite like it.”

“So have either of you seen a building that could house this room?” Harrison asked, still looking at the photo. “A farmhouse, an old warehouse? Something?”

“No.” Stephanie shook her head. “It’s in a state forest. There aren’t many buildings.”

Hannah nodded to concur.

“Okay, so what about this—I know it’s hard to see, but is there anything about the area outside the window that gives a clue as to where on the lake it might be?”

“I don’t see anything that looks familiar,” Stephanie said. “I mean you can only see a tiny snippet of the water, and it’s a really big lake.”

“I’d say at least five or six miles from end to end,” Hannah agreed. “But at least it’s something.”

“And you think it might help you find Sara?” Stephanie asked, worry making her sound much younger.

“It’s definitely a start,” Harrison said, smiling across
at her. “We’re really grateful for your help.” He reached out to shake her hand, and she looked up at him with the blind adoration only the young can achieve.

“And I promise to get back to you as soon as we know anything,” Hannah added.

She nodded, looked quickly at Hannah and then back to Harrison, and then turned to go.

“Hang on,” Harrison said, as Stephanie turned back to him. “One more question. Do you remember what Sara was wearing the morning she left?”

Stephanie frowned, then smiled. “Yeah. This I do know. She was wearing jeans and a shirt. Mine, actually. She hadn’t done laundry. It was a Sunderland T-shirt. Black with orange writing that said ‘Property of Sunderland.’ ”

T
he scene was overly bright, despite the fact that it was nearly three in the morning. Local police cars were lined up in the rutted lane that fronted the old building, lights flashing a garish red. Harrison killed the engine and was out of the car almost before it stopped, heart pounding as he made his way past the requisite crime scene tape, a halfhearted effort to contain access to the site. In truth, there was nothing to contain, the out-of-the way house surrounded by the twisted cedars and rocky inclines that marked the Texas Hill country.

He flashed his FBI credentials at a policeman standing guard on the front walk and then stopped on the weather-beaten porch as his partner Madison emerged from inside. With an unbidden intake of breath, he waited.

“It’s her,” Madison said, her eyes dark with emotion.

“Is she…”

“Yeah. ME says maybe as long as twelve hours. They’ll know more when they get the body back to the lab.”

His stomach threatened revolt, but he started forward anyway, determined to get to her even though it made no sense. He’d arrived too late to be of any help. Hell, even with all his training, all his connections, he hadn’t been able to make the difference. He hadn’t been able to find her in time. But he still needed to see her, if for no other reason than to prove that this was real.

Brianna was dead.

“No,” Madison whispered, her hand on his arm preventing forward motion. “You don’t want to go in there. You don’t want your last memory to be…” She swallowed, a shudder rippling across her frame.

“She’s my sister, Madison. I don’t have a choice.” He shook off her hand and stepped inside the little house. The living room looked almost quaint, but he ignored the homespun comfort and headed down the hall to the room in the back where the forensic techs were hard at work, their bright lights cutting across the shadowed hallway with a garish glow.

The harsh metallic smell of blood filled the room. And even though the odor wasn’t something new, it still made his skin crawl and his gut clench. There were bloodstains on the bed, the spatter on the wall behind the headboard looking like some kind of macabre painting. A piece of rope had fallen to the floor, the hemp also stained with blood. But despite the signs of violence, there was no body.

“Where is she?” Harrison asked, his voice sounding overly loud against the forced hush within the room.

Tracy Braxton, the ME, blinked once, her chocolate eyes taking a moment to focus as she pulled herself from her train of thought. “She’s downstairs. In the basement. But you don’t want to go down there, Harrison.” Like Madison, she was trying to protect him. He knew that. Knew also that she was probably right. But he didn’t have a choice. Bree was a part of him.

Exactly two minutes older, he’d always been quick to remind people that he was the eldest sibling. But in truth, Bree had been the wise one, the calming influence that tamed his wilder instincts. He’d been the one who’d walked the razor’s edge. And she’d always been there, waiting until he’d needed her to rescue him—mostly from himself.

And now, the one time she’d truly needed him…

With an apologetic shrug to Tracy, he turned and made his way back down the hallway to the cellar door. In his haste, he’d missed it the first time, the faint light from below barely visible at the top of the stairs.

As in the bedroom, the first thing that hit him was the smell. And he stopped for a moment, reaching inside for strength. Then with a slow exhalation, he made his way to the bottom of the stairs, nodding at a uniform and again flashing his credentials, before making his way to the back of the brick-lined room.

It was cold. Colder than he’d have thought considering it was spring. Like a grave. He pushed aside the thought and turned the corner, walking into the little alcove that marked the center of activity, his mind revolting at the sight before him. She was naked, strung up by the arms, her position reminiscent of ancient crucifixion. The disrespect was evident not just in the horrific way
she’d been left to die, but in the carvings on her skin. Each cut, surgically precise, was accentuated with a trail of dried blood, the garish result making her look more like a battered doll than a human being.

His sister. Bree.

White-hot rage ripped through him, the pain doubled by the feeling of impotence. Nothing he’d done had mattered. He hadn’t been fast enough. And now the bastard behind this… this carnage was out there somewhere, waiting to do it all over again.

He reached up to touch her face, ignoring the tech trying to shoo him away, praying that somehow he’d wake up and find it all a dream. His fingers touched the cold flesh of her cheek, and her eyes fluttered open, the condemnation there shattering his heart.

“Why didn’t you come?” she asked, her brownish-green eyes the exact mirror of his, the anguish reflected there sucking the breath from his body.

He opened his mouth, but there were no words, and still she held his gaze, imploring him, condemning him. “I believed in you,” she whispered, and then slowly the life began to fade. He screamed her name, trying to pull her back to him. To will her to life.

“Harrison.”

The voice pulled him from sleep, relief making him giddy.

“Bree.” He reached out and grabbed her, his fingers digging into her arms. “You’re all right. You’re really
okay.”

“Harrison. Wake up.”

And then it hit him. As it had a thousand times before. Bree was dead and gone. He hadn’t saved her
then, and he couldn’t save her now. Disoriented, he fought against the last remnants of the dream—the sensory memory as strong now as it had been all those years ago in Texas.

“Harrison,” the voice called again, and this time reality surfaced. It was Hannah. His eyes flickered open, and her face swam into view. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “It was just a dream.” She was leaning over him, concern stretched tight across her face.

The room came into focus. He was in Hannah’s house on the sofa. They’d been working late, trying to find the place at the lake. He must have fallen asleep. The events of the day had clearly brought on the nightmare, and he was gripping her arms as if there were no tomorrow.