Simon Says Die (29 page)

Clayton shook his head, his smug look returning. “You got it all wrong,” he said. “The second girl, Amanda Stockton, she got away.”

A
MANDA EASED HER
tired body down onto her leather couch to take a much-needed break from her computer. Making a living by writing computer programs at home rather than having to go into an office was a blessing, but it was also a curse. She'd become the hermit her sister had once accused her of being, working inside on a beautiful weekend rather than going out. The sky—visible from her back windows—was so blue it hurt to look at it. And she knew if she went outside she'd smell the salt in the air, might even be able to hear the waves crashing on the shore a few miles away.

She'd enjoyed the ocean once, a lifetime ago. She'd loved hearing the sand crunch beneath her feet, feeling its cooling touch between her toes, listening to the cries of sea gulls overhead. But those days were gone, a part of her past. She could never be that carefree again, that ignorant of the people around her, that exposed, vulnerable.

Wary of the all-too-familiar path her tired mind was taking, she forced those thoughts aside and curled her legs beneath her. With one click of her remote, her brand-new, sixty-one- inch, high-def TV snapped to life. A decadent luxury, it had put a huge dent in her savings. But she'd only turn thirty once, so she'd splurged.

Instead of spending her birthday last week visiting her parents' graves like she usually did, she'd watched two action flicks on her new TV, and shoveled handfuls of fattening, buttery popcorn into her mouth.

She didn't regret buying the TV.

She did regret the popcorn.

An extra hour on the treadmill had been enough to keep her from indulging again anytime soon.

After clicking through the movie guide, she selected a crime scene drama. With her past, she knew most people would think her odd to like those kinds of shows, but it made perfect sense to her. It was all about control, facing and overcoming fears.

Not letting
him
win.

But instead of the show she'd expected, the screen filled with a live shot of the outside of the building that housed Shadow Falls' city hall and police station. A red banner underneath the picture declared “Breaking News.”

When anchorwoman Tiffany Adams stepped in front of the camera, Amanda knew this was something far more important than another fluff piece on the upcoming mayoral race. Adams rarely left the anchor desk to report in the field, probably because her heavy makeup and hairspray didn't respond well to the Florida humidity.

In a tone far too upbeat for what she was saying, she informed viewers that a jogger had discovered a woman's body in the city's main park early this morning, and that the mayor and police chief were about to give a news conference.

Amanda's stomach fluttered and she twisted the hem of her pink tank top between her fingers. Four solemn policemen filed up to stand shoulder to shoulder behind a podium at the top of the steps. She shook her head at the bitter irony. If she went to a store without a written shopping list, half the time she'd come home without the very items she most needed. And yet, even though she hadn't spoken to those policemen in years, she could still remember their names. Some things she could never forget.

Even though she wanted to.

Mayor Edward Montgomery heaved his bulk up the steps and stood red-faced in front of the officers lined up behind the podium's bank of microphones. His usual jovial personality and rotund appearance had given him the nickname of Santa. He wasn't jovial today. After giving one of his briefest speeches since the start of election season, he introduced Police Chief Logan Richards and motioned toward someone off-camera.

A man with short, dark hair strode into view and stood next to the mayor, towering over him. Impeccably dressed in a navy blue suit—in spite of the stifling heat—Richards radiated confidence and authority.

The previous police chief had retired about six months ago and moved to California. Amanda knew Richards was his replacement and that he was from New York, but she hadn't paid much attention to the news reports about him when he was hired. That part of her life was over and she wanted nothing to do with any more policemen.

He looked younger than she'd expected—maybe mid-thirties—although the tiny shots of silver in his blue-black hair might mean he was older. His skin was smooth and tanned, with a slightly darker shadow along his jaw. He was probably one of those men who always looked like he needed to shave. She bet it drove him crazy; it contrasted starkly with the rest of his crisp, polished appearance.

When he spoke, his rich, deep baritone cut across the chatter of the reporters and demanded everyone's attention. His speech was short and concise, confirming what Tiffany Adams had reported earlier but adding little else.

He nodded at a reporter from the
Shadow Falls Journal
, the same reporter who'd badgered Amanda with relentless, personal questions when she was released from the hospital four years ago. After suffering through his crass, intimate questions about her abduction, she'd never agreed to another interview—not with the press, anyway. The detectives had interviewed her so many times she'd sarcastically threatened to move into the police station to save them time.

“Chief, can you confirm the body in the park is missing college student Carolyn O'Donnell?” the reporter asked.

“Until the next of kin are notified, I can't speak to the identity of the—”

“Do you actually expect us to believe the dead woman isn't O'Donnell?” the same reporter shouted.

Richards pointed to another reporter, effectively dismissing the
Journal
reporter, leaving him red-faced and sputtering.

Amanda couldn't help but grin.

“Yes, the body was discovered just off the main jogging trail in a remote section of the park,” Richards said in response to a question.

“No, the jogger who found the victim isn't a suspect in the slaying.”

“I can't confirm or deny sexual assault until the autopsy is completed.”

“No, I can't speak to the cause of death at this time.”

For several minutes, the questions continued. When another reporter repeated the question about the victim's identity, Chief Richards thanked everyone for their time and walked away, abruptly ending the press conference. Amanda smiled at his audacity.

The angle of the camera shifted, focusing again on Tiffany Adams. Quoting unnamed sources, she callously confirmed that the nude body found in the park was the Florida State University sophomore who'd gone missing while home on summer break. She quoted an unnamed source and didn't express a twinge of remorse that O'Donnell's family might be watching the broadcast.

The anchorwoman seemed to delight in going into more detail, telling the audience about the multiple stab wounds and speculating that the victim was strangled. Then she mentioned something Richards hadn't: the victim was found clutching a long-stemmed, red rose.

Amanda shivered and clasped her arms around her middle, barely feeling her fingernails biting into her skin through her thin, cotton tank.

Was the stem smooth? Had the killer removed all of the thorns? All but one?

The TV screen faded away and she was back in the cabin four years ago, lying on the hardwood floor in a puddle of her own blood, listening to the sound of Dana's terrified sobs behind her.

Amanda's attacker straddled her stomach and held a red rose above her, its sweet perfume wafting down and mingling with the metallic scent of blood. He plucked one thorn from the stem. “He kills me.” He broke off another. “He kills me not.”

His sickening version of the childhood chant continued as he snapped off each thorn to drop one by one onto her blood-smeared stomach. When only one thorn remained, his obsidian eyes shone through the holes of the hooded mask that covered his head and most of his face, but not the cruel slant of his lips as they curved up in a delighted smile.

He leaned down, pressing his lips next to her ear, his hot breath washing over her bare skin. She shuddered in revulsion and his hand tightened in her hair, painfully twisting her head back. “He kills me,” he rasped.

Dropping the rose, he reached behind his back and pulled out a long, jagged knife. Its wickedly sharp teeth winked in the dim light as he raised it above his head.

With a muffled cry, Amanda tore herself away from the nightmare of her past, collapsing against the couch as she struggled to breathe and slow her racing heart. The TV gradually came back into focus. Channel Ten was still covering the gruesome discovery in the park. Adams speculated on a possible connection between this morning's murder and Dana Branson's murder years earlier. A picture of Dana at Florida State University filled the screen. Then the camera zoomed in on a closeup of her tombstone.

When they showed a file photo of Amanda leaving the hospital, she flipped the TV off and dropped the remote to the floor. She reached up and ran a shaking finger down the rough edges of the long, puckered scar that zigzagged down the right side of her face, a scar that four painful surgeries had failed to completely erase, a scar that reminded her every day of the horrors she wanted so desperately to forget.

But no matter how hard she tried, she could never forget the price of her cowardice: Dana's life.

Furiously wiping at the hot tears cascading down her cheeks, Amanda wondered who had really escaped all those years ago. Her? Or Dana?

L
OGAN THOUGHT HE
knew what hell was. He'd lived it for the past decade, trying to atone for a split-second decision that could never be undone.

But that wasn't hell.

Not even close.

Hell was telling the O'Donnells their daughter had been murdered. Hell was watching the light of hope die in their eyes, watching Carolyn's mother crumple to the ground, her tear-streaked face ravaged with grief.

If they'd been angry or had cursed at him for failing to save their daughter, it might have been easier. Instead, Mr. O'Donnell shook Logan's hand, thanked him for trying, and patted him on the shoulder as if Logan was the one who needed to be comforted.

This wasn't the first time he'd told someone their loved one had been killed, but it never got any easier. Every time it was like a punch in his gut, reminding him of the tragic mistake he'd once made. Had the killer he'd let go hurt anyone else? How many lives had been lost, how many families destroyed because of his lapse in judgment all those years ago?

He blew out a shaky breath and blinked his tired eyes, trying to focus on the computer screen in front of him. The most important thing right now was finding Amanda Stockton. The similarities between O'Donnell's killing and what had happened to Amanda and her friend were too overwhelming not to have been committed by the same man. She was the only living witness to his crimes. If there was any chance the killer thought she might remember something that would help the police find him, she could be in terrible danger.

None of the detectives understood Logan's obsession with finding her, but none of them could know the kind of guilt that ate at him every day. God willing, they never would.

He'd already browsed through dozens of law enforcement and government web sites searching for her, but he wasn't giving up. No one was going home tonight until he was certain Amanda Stockton was safe.

He glanced at his watch, cursing when he saw how many hours had passed since he'd begun his search. How could one woman be so hard to find? She wasn't on the tax rolls of any municipality within five hundred miles of Shadow Falls. The local utility companies didn't have her on their customer lists. Neither did the cable or satellite TV companies. If she'd gotten married or changed her name, she hadn't done it in Walton County.

Everything pointed to her not being a local anymore, which meant she wasn't in immediate danger, at least for now. But without knowing why the killer had shown up again after four years, Logan couldn't risk giving up on the search. Finding her, making sure she was safe, was his primary goal, but it wasn't his only goal.

He wanted to interview her about her abduction. Asking her to relive that horrific experience didn't sit well with him, but finding the killer before he could kill again was more important than sparing anyone's feelings. She'd been with her attacker for three days. Even though the killer had worn a disguise, Amanda had to have seen something that could help identify him. She could hold the key to the entire investigation without even realizing it.

A knock sounded on Logan's open office door, and one of the detectives helping him search for Amanda leaned in around the doorway, his eyes lit with excitement.

“Chief, I found her.”

 

About the Author

LENA DIAZ
grew up a Navy Brat. But while two of her three siblings followed her father's footsteps and joined the Navy, Lena loosely followed her musically talented mother's footsteps by choosing a more creative path, writing. Her first novel-length manuscripts were paranormals, ranging from contemporary vampire stories to medieval druid tales. Since dead bodies kept creeping into everything she wrote, she eventually turned to romantic suspense. Today, Lena can be found in North Florida with her husband of twenty-plus years, her belly-dancing daughter, her mud-bogging son, a tri-colored Sheltie named Sparky, and a pair of Betta fish named Rocky Bal-Betta and Mr. T.

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