The First Victim (3 page)

“A little under a year. You live in New York City, right?” He made eye contact with her in the rearview mirror of the car.

A chill slipped down her spine. How did he know where she lived? She nervously looked out the window for Bailey.

Smiling, as though amused by her reaction, Williams told her, “Drawbacks of a small town. Everyone knows everything about everybody.”

She relaxed again. Of course he was right. No doubt the town’s grapevine had been working overtime since her father’s accident. He probably knew her whole life story, even the worst part. Everyone in town did.

Opening the door, startling her, Bailey tossed her overnight bag and purse on the seat beside her. Without a word, he climbed into the front. Williams put the car into gear and started driving.

It was unsettling to sit in the backseat of the police car, metal mesh separating her from the two men in front. It made her nervous, like she’d done something wrong, like she was a criminal. The car smelled faintly of alcohol and she imagined they’d tossed a drunk in the back before they’d picked her up.

Within minutes they arrived at The Garden Gate Bed & Breakfast. Bailey got out, grabbed her bags and extended a hand to help her disembark.

Slipping her fingers into Bailey’s palm, she allowed him to pull her from the car. They both swayed unsteadily on the cobblestone driveway of the B&B. They walked hand-in-hand around the side of the house, toward the private quarters of the owner, Mark Castle.

“You’re sure this is what you want?”

She nodded, heart hammering. She felt light-headed. She’d told herself it was because she’d been spooked by the accident and her adrenaline was running wild, but the truth was, her hormones had gone into overdrive the moment she set eyes on her childhood crush. He was still ridiculously good-looking; his football career had never marred his straight nose or high cheekbones. She doubted that he still played football, but if the way his clothes fit were any indication, he still worked out.

Bailey stopped halfway down the well-lit garden path and out of sight of Williams. He dropped her bag and purse. “You look good, Em.” His heavy-lidded gaze lingered appreciatively on the top button of her blouse. He caught a handful of her hair that fell to her shoulders and examined the silky strands. “So soft.”

Before she knew what was happening, he cupped her face in his palms, tilting back her chin.

Alarm bells sounded in her head, but she didn’t tell him to stop.

He covered her mouth with his. It was nothing like she’d always imagined it would be. His breath smelled of alcohol. She gasped her surprise, which allowed his tongue to slip into her mouth. He tasted like scotch.

He’d been drinking. That’s why he was doing something so out of character.

She shoved at his rock-hard shoulders, trying to push him away, but he didn’t budge. Slanting his head, he kissed her more deeply. She twisted her chin free of his grip, causing his lips to slide from her mouth to her ear, his nighttime stubble scraping the exposed flesh of her cheek. He nipped the tender soft tissue of her earlobe, and her knees almost buckled.

“Bailey…” She wasn’t sure if she was encouraging him, or protesting. The rational part of her knew they should end this heady foolishness before it got out of hand, but…

He didn’t seem to be having any such second thoughts. His hands dipped to her hips, weakening her resolve further.

“Bailey, stop!” She was breathless, her voice reedy and thin, made weak by desire.

“Don’t want to be alone,” he muttered into her shoulder, his tone ragged, sounding like he was on the verge of tears. He yanked her hips into his.

A door creaking open separated them. Jumping away from her, Bailey stumbled into the shadows without a word, leaving Emily to face Mark Castle alone.

Ginny’s father squinted out into the darkness, just like he had when at fourteen, she and Ginny had come tearing up the path at the last possible minute before breaking curfew. “That you, Emily?”

“It’s me, Mr. Castle.”

“What are you doing out there all alone? Come on in.”

Trying desperately to regain some semblance of composure, she took her time bending down to pick up her overnight bag. The night air cooling her heated cheeks, she forced herself to breathe normally.

Mark walked out to meet her. “Welcome home, Emily.”

Ho-ly shit. Emily Wright was back in town.

Everyone at the diner was talking about it. Everyone except him. He was keeping his mouth shut and soaking it all in.

The people who had been around fifteen years earlier were either reminiscing about those dark days, or explaining the story about the poor Wright girl to those who had moved to town since.

Emily Wright.

Just the thought of her was enough to get him so turned on he squirmed in his seat. She was here. The plan had worked. It was a heady sensation, making him feel drunk with power.

She was in his playground now, no longer protected by the big, bad city she liked to call home.

It was time to toy with her. They’d play by his rules. This was going to be fun.

Despite the fact that the dinner crowd lingered over the remains of their meals, unable to get their fill of gossip, he left the diner.

It was a cool night, but he didn’t notice. He strolled over to The Garden Gate, doing his best to look nonchalant. No need to draw attention to himself. Once he got there, he hid in the shadows at the edge of the property, wondering what room Mark had put her in.

The week before he’d double-checked the fire-escape ladder that led to the second floor. It was sturdy enough to hold both his weight and that of the Wright girl. He’d spent some time perfecting his fireman’s carry, just to make sure that when the time came to take her, he’d have no problems.

No lights were on in any of the second-floor guest bedrooms. Either she’d already turned in for the night, or she was staying in the Primrose Suite on the main floor.

It took all of his self-control not to creep up to the window and peek inside. He could probably do it without getting caught.

He took a few steps toward the B&B before logic won out, stopping him in his tracks. Playing Peeping Tom was not part of the plan.

Besides, it was still early. Chances were she wasn’t even in her room yet. She was probably in Mark’s private quarters. Right now Mark could be talking to her, maybe even touching her.

He clenched his fists at the thought. Jamming his hands into his pockets, he found one of his favorite souvenirs. Its silky softness soothed him as it slipped through his fingers. Relaxing a little, he remembered that this was his game.

He pulled a girl’s ponytail out of his pocket, and rubbed it against his cheek, before holding it under his nose to inhale the sweet, innocent scent.

Emily Wright would be his. She’d belong to him, the centerpiece of his collection. He’d have her. Soon.

Despite the warm milk Mark had insisted she drink, Emily was not falling asleep. She hadn’t even gotten undressed, except to take off her shoes. Fully clothed, she stretched out on the lavender duvet that covered the antique four-post bed. All night she’d lain on top of the covers, thinking.

She worried about leaving Marisol all alone to handle the Armstrong account. The ad campaign for Armstrong Security’s launch for their line of personal protection products needed to make a big splash to be considered a success.

It was easier to focus on work, than to think about the mess her personal life had suddenly become.

Tomorrow she’d have to face Laurie. The idea filled her with both excitement and trepidation. She was thrilled to be getting the chance to see her little sister, but she was nervous about the welcome she might receive. After all, she hadn’t seen her sibling in two years. There was no telling what sort of poison her father might have fed the impressionable adolescent in that time. For all Emily knew, Laurie might hate her.

Not that Emily would blame her. She had, after all, practically abandoned her. How could Emily ever explain why she couldn’t be here? In this town? In that house?

Despite her attempts not to think about him, Emily’s thoughts drifted again and again to her father. He was the reason she had left. He was the reason she was here, back in this place she hated. This place scared her so much that she was clutching her personal arsenal of Armstrong Security products in sweaty palms, and twitching nervously every time an owl hooted or a branch brushed against the window of the room.

Desperate to distract herself from her frightened imaginings, Emily conjured up an image of Bailey. How many times had she and Ginny whispered and giggled through the night about their teenage crushes, during their weekly sleepovers, in this very room?

Ginny had gushed about Robbie McKinnon, while Emily had rhapsodized about Bailey O’Neil. Earlier Ginny’s dad had told Emily that Robbie had recently moved back to town. After all these years, Robbie and Ginny were finally a couple.

Tonight Bailey O’Neil had kissed her. She still couldn’t believe it.
He
had kissed her. He may have gotten off to an awkward start, but Bailey had recovered quickly. He’d ignited a reaction Emily had never experienced in the arms of another man. One that still had her body reverberating with its intensity hours later.

Two years earlier, when she’d come home for her mother’s memorial service, Bailey had caught her alone on the back steps of the funeral home. He’d wiped away her tears, muttered some awkward words of condolence and kissed her on the cheek.

Knowing that she’d never return to Lakeside Acres again, and that it would be the last chance to fulfill her girlhood dream, she’d grabbed his chin and pressed her lips to his, expecting fireworks. Instead, nothing happened. Caught off guard, he’d frozen, like that deer in her headlights earlier, and hadn’t responded to the insistent pressure of her mouth. Mortified, she’d broken the contact. Without daring to risk a look at his face, she’d run away.

But tonight, tonight,
he
had initiated the kiss.

He had wanted her. She closed her eyes, savoring the remembered pleasure.

Somehow she drifted off to sleep, but her dreams weren’t sweet.

The dream started out pleasantly enough. It was a crisp autumn day. The trees that ringed the lake exploded with the most magnificent shades of orange, red and yellow, but the leaves had not yet started to fall. The summer people had all returned to their homes in the city and only the locals remained. This was the best time of year to live in a lake community. No kids were swimming. No men with overpriced fishing equipment stood at the shore. No women soaked up the sun on the beach.

A lone boat sped across the lake, the whine of its motor bouncing off the surface and echoing in the deserted silence.

Sixteen-year-old Emily, arms outstretched, leaned over the bow of the boat. Her chestnut hair, lightened by a summer in the sun to the shade of a newborn fawn, was swept away from her face by the breeze. On days like today, when there was no one else around to see, she still liked to pretend she was flying.

Her father, Doctor Donald Wright, manned the boat. He’d been so eager to get out on the water, he’d hustled everyone into the boat without bothering to change out of his suit and tie. Lost in thought, he was doing a competent job of steering, but was oblivious to Emily’s escapades. Her dreamy-eyed mother, Val, managed to simultaneously bounce Emily’s one-year-old sister Laurie on her knee while sketching on a pad balanced on the seat beside her.

“Emily, don’t do that,” Val said, not even looking up from her sketch.

Emily, who had already perfected the adolescent art of ignoring her mother, pretended she didn’t hear. As they hit a slightly larger wave, the spray smacked Emily in the face. She grinned, licking the lake water from her lips.

“Emily.” Her mother’s slightly impatient warning tone marred the almost perfect moment.

“Emily!” Her father, finally aware of the dangerous stunt his older daughter was pulling, was even less understanding than her mother.

Obediently she braced herself against the smooth fiberglass surface of the boat and pushed away from the edge, but not before dipping her fingers into the cool lake water just one more time.

“Grab the rope, Emily,” he told her, throttling back the engine so that they could coast to the dock they were approaching.

She grabbed the rope and readied to tie the boat to the dock. “Ready.”

The boat bumped against the dock with a dull thud, sending Val’s pencil skittering across the paper, leaving a jagged line in its wake.

Emily leaped out and looped the rope around a post, quickly tying a sailor’s knot to secure the vessel.

“I’m going to start my homework.” She gave a quick wave and then jogged down the path into the woods before they could tell her to carry her sister back to the house. She’d been stuck playing babysitter for her baby sister all summer and she was sick of it. After all, she was still a kid herself.

Emily jogged along the path, her ponytail bouncing with every step. It was something she’d done a million times before. She was so busy thinking about Bailey O’Neil, the cutest guy in tenth grade, that she didn’t really even see where she was going.

Until it was too late.

The shadow of a man, with the stance of a mountain lion waiting to pounce on its prey, blocked her path.

Startled, Emily tripped and fell to her knees with a gasp. She saw stars as pain shot through her knees.

The shadow leaped.

A hand clamped a cloth over her mouth. It was sickeningly sweet.

She tried to scream, but it was too late. She tried to breathe, but he was choking her.

Her world went black.

When she woke up, she was in a small, windowless room lit by a single, glaring bare bulb. It smelled like dead fish and mildew. The walls were concrete. So was the floor. The only piece of furniture was the chair, a big, fancy leather recliner. Someone was rocking in it. She could only make out the shadow of a man. With the bright light shining behind him, his face was obscured in shadow.

Blinking against the harsh light, Emily sat up, drawing her knees into her chest. Her head hurt and she felt sick to her stomach. She closed her eyes, counted to ten and then opened them, trying to wake herself from the terrible dream she was caught up in. Everything was the same when she opened her eyes again. It wasn’t a dream.

The rocking of the chair stopped. Her kidnapper spoke in a high-pitched singsong voice. “Come out, come out wherever you are.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, making spots explode on the inside of her eyelids.

“Emily?”

Her eyes flew open. How did he know her name?