The First Victim (8 page)

Engrossed in a book he was reading, he hadn’t even spared her a glance. She could still hear the criticism in his voice. “Running away from a problem never helped anyone. You need to toughen up.”

All these years later, the dismissive insult still cut deep, and before she could stop them, two big, fat tears spilled down her cheeks.

She’d wanted her father to love her unconditionally; instead he only tolerated her when she put on a brave face. She’d needed him to help her feel safe, but all he did was ridicule her fears.

Shaking her head in disgust, Emily turned her attention away from the books and her father’s stony countenance to the oversized bay window. It was too dark to see out. All she could see was her own sad reflection looking back at her from the glass.

He sat watching her from across the lake. Emily Wright.

She’d turned on the lights. Through his binoculars he watched as she curled into a chair, wiping away tears. The woman was always crying.

“Buck up, Dollface, you ain’t seen nothing yet.”

As though she’d heard him, she looked out the window, right at him.

Instinctively he ducked down before realizing that there was no way she could see him through the cover of the dark night.

Raising the binoculars again, he adjusted them so that he could focus on her face. She was upset, that much was clear.

He smiled.

Could she sense him here? Watching. Waiting. That he was so close?

Soon.

He’d have her soon.

But he’d have to wait a little while longer. He wanted to make sure she knew he was coming for her. It had been a long time since she’d been played with. He’d waited too long to rush this.

The game was about to begin.

It was time to get to work. He put down the binoculars and turned his attention to Jackie.

They were so much easier when they were like this. Quiet. Compliant. Dead.

He closed Jackie Willet’s unseeing eyes, brushing his palm gently over her face like she was made of porcelain.

He picked up her limp, naked body and carried it into the next room to clean her. Turning on Shirley Temple singing “The Good Ship Lollipop,” he began to hum.

He laid her out on the metal table and bathed her body with slow, deliberate movements. Rinsing the sponge he used often, he wiped away the dirt and grime, the blood and tears, the semen and the secretions. When she was finally clean, she became the perfect canvas.

Now his fun began.

He shaved her first, using a straight razor and water. He didn’t use any cream or lather because he loved the sound the blade made scraping across the skin. He timed the scrapes so that they kept rhythm with the music. He shaved under her arms, her pubic hair and her legs, until she was as smooth as a china doll. It was time to insert the toy surprise.

The lollipops were laid out on a special shelf, sorted by color. He hadn’t been able to decide what flavor Jackie was, so he picked up an assortment. Not like Emily. He already knew Emily was cherry.

After he was done, he dressed her in a pair of pink baby-doll pajamas, wrapping her in lace and flowers and innocence.

He did her hair next. Brushing it until it gleamed, curling it into perfect ringlets with a curling iron, taking care not to singe her soft cheeks.

He did her makeup last, covering all the bruises and scratches that marred her otherwise perfect face. He curled her eyelashes and applied six coats of mascara so that they popped against her skin. With a sure hand, he traced her lips with a pale pink lip liner, transforming her mouth into a perfect Cupid’s bow.

Stiff from working while bent over, he stood up and stretched before stepping away to admire his handiwork. She looked like a sleeping angel.

He smiled his satisfaction before scooping up his camera and immortalizing the image.

She was the best yet.

Emily? Emily? You okay?”

Disoriented, Emily struggled to wake up. The light was so bright. She shielded her eyes against the morning sun reflecting off the lake and pouring through the windows of the Big Room.

“Earth to Emily.”

Emily turned to focus on Laurie. At sixteen, she oozed adolescent angst 24/7. Whereas Emily had clung to her tomboy tendencies at that age, Laurie seemed to awaken wearing the makeup of a vamping cover model.

“You didn’t wake me, Emily,” Laurie whined in direct contrast to her sophisticated appearance. “I overslept.”

“Sorry.” Emily unfurled herself from the ball she’d rolled into overnight and slowly rose to her feet.

“Daddy always wakes—woke me.”

Even though she was practically a stranger, Emily knew that her sister’s eyes were filled with tears; she’d heard them in the catch in her voice. It was enough to make a painful lump rise in her own throat. She knew the girl was looking to her to make everything better, but she couldn’t find the words. She flashed what she hoped was a reassuring smile, but she wasn’t sure it hit the mark, since she’d avoided looking at her sister’s face. “I’ll give you a ride to school.”

Her sister had no interest in the olive branch. “Don’t bother.” She stalked off, muttering under her breath.

After making sure that Laurie, a package of toaster pastries clutched in her hand, got out the door, Emily laced up her sneakers and pulled on an old 5k-for-charity T-shirt. The slogan, faded after many washings, still brought a smile to her face. Anyone Can Be a Victim, It Takes Someone Special to be a Survivor. It had taken her a lot of time and therapy to get to this point, but she no longer thought of herself as a victim. She’d made the choice to see herself as what she was, a strong survivor.

The doorbell rang. Startled she let out a yelp and then chuckled. She might be a survivor, but she would never label herself fearless.

Bailey waited for Emily to open the front door. He knew she was home because he’d just given Laurie a ride to her bus stop. His reason for coming by had to do with the younger Wright sister, so he really had no business talking to Emily this morning, especially if he was trying to get over her. His encounter with her at the hospital the day before had only served to remind him of how much he missed her. And yet he couldn’t help himself. He’d pulled up to the house, gotten out of his car and rang the doorbell. He couldn’t very well run away before she answered like some teenager pulling a prank.

She opened the door and smiled up at him. “Morning, Bay.”

“Morning.” This had been a mistake. Even without makeup and dressed in a ratty old T-shirt, she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever known. His gaze dipped lower to appreciate the view her running shorts offered of toned legs.

“What’s up?”

Guiltily he forced himself to focus on her face. “I wanted to talk to you about one of Laurie’s friends.”

“I don’t know how much help I can be, but you’re welcome to come inside for a cup of coffee.” She waved her arm, beckoning him to enter.

He stood his ground. He knew without a shadow of a doubt that being alone with Emily in a house that had multiple beds was a temptation he didn’t want to battle. “I’m working.”

He saw a momentary flash of hurt in Emily’s eyes and cursed himself for being so brusque with her. Just because he was trying to protect his heart was no excuse for being short with her. “And I’m kind of pressed for time. I’ve got an appointment with the funeral home in an hour.”

Nodding her understanding, she offered, “If you want, I could go with you.”

His heart stuttered. She didn’t want him to have to plan his father’s funeral alone. She still cared about him.

“Thanks, but I’m already meeting someone there. Anyway the reason I’m here is to ask if Laurie has said anything about her friend Jackie Willet.”

Emily thought for a second before replying. Bailey held back a grin as he recognized the way she bit her lower lip while she was thinking. It was something she’d done when they were kids. Then he started thinking about how much he’d like to nibble on her lip.

“I don’t think so. She mentioned an Anna, but I don’t remember her saying anything about a Jackie.” Emily shrugged, unaware of where his wayward thoughts had strayed. “Why are you asking about her?”

Bailey reminded himself that he was there in an official capacity. “Her parents have reported her as a runaway. I just saw Laurie on her way to school and asked her about it, but she said she didn’t know anything about it. If she tells you anything different, will you let me know?”

Emily nodded.

“Thanks. Her parents are pretty upset.” He half turned away. “I’ve got to go.”

“Bay?”

She was the only one who’d ever called him by the shortened version of his name. He tried to ignore how good it made him feel. “Yeah?”

“Are you okay?”

The concern in her voice was genuine. It made him answer her honestly. “Not so much. We’re short-staffed. I’m tired, and I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

He turned back and drank her in. “Yes.”

“What?”

“Promise me you won’t leave town this time without saying good-bye.”

She swallowed convulsively. An emotion he couldn’t identify flashed in her eyes. “I promise, Bay.”

He got into his car and drove away, watching Emily standing in the doorway. He wasn’t sure whether stopping to talk to her had been a giant mistake or the best decision he’d ever made.

It was going to storm. Emily knew it the second she stepped out of the house. Goose bumps covered her arms despite the humidity. She scratched the back of her neck, trying to rid herself of the creepy-crawly sensation that had settled there. She could already feel the storm’s electricity pulsing through the air. A quick glance at the darkening clouds confirmed her theory that a thunderstorm was imminent. The moisture already hung in the air, thick and heavy. It wasn’t an ideal condition to go for a run, but she went anyway.

She needed to relieve some of the pressure brewing inside her. Seeing Bailey always had that effect on her. Both her body and heart responded to his proximity. Both wanted him closer.

The low, warning rumble of thunder made her aware of her surroundings. Most of the lakefront houses were deserted until spring. Her mother had always called this time of year Ghost Town Season. After years of pounding the crowded pavement of New York, the neighborhood felt desolate. Even after all these years, most of the streets in Lakeside Acres still weren’t paved. Running on the dirt and gravel roads was like traveling back in time, to a simpler place. But nothing was simple. Like always, things in Lakeside Acres were more complicated and less idyllic than they appeared.

Soon she’d be running past the O’Neil house. According to Mark Castle, the only person who still resided in the house Bailey had grown up in was his crotchety grandmother. Emily considered changing her route or just turning back and going home rather than risking an encounter with the old bat.

There was no reason for her to get caught in the rainstorm. In fact, knowing that the thunder would soon be followed by lightning, it probably made sense to take shelter, but she didn’t feel like hiding from any of Lakeside Acres’ residents or the storm. She felt like taking it on.

She ran faster. Harder.

The winds began to whip up as the storm grew closer. She leaned in to the wind, welcoming the challenge.

Everything about coming home had been a challenge, but this was a challenge she could meet. It was a foe she could beat. If she could beat this, if she could run despite the storm, then she could face her fears. She could beat them.

Her father had approved when she’d taken up track after her abduction. Having people see her running all over town, not hiding out in her room, had reflected well on him. Everyone had assumed she was recovering well, when in fact she ran to alleviate some of the unfaltering tension that coiled within her, threatening to tear her apart. A swell of anger rushed through her, cutting off her breath, as her list of grievances against her father filled her heart, poisoning her. A painful stitch flared to life beneath her ribcage and she stumbled as she tried to catch her breath and banish the pain.

A familiar sense of guilt and hurt made Emily light-headed. She’d worked too hard and too long to get over her father’s betrayal, to let his selfishness get the best of her now. She pushed away the temporary weakness, tapping into the reserve of self-worth she’d stored up over the years.

She slowed her run to a walk, pushing the heel of her palm into her side. It didn’t help. She stopped and bent over, her breath ragged as she tried to regain control of her body. Experience had taught her that the way to do that was to banish her errant thoughts. Staying in the present, living in the present, was the key.

This was a lesson she’d learned over the years. “Be, don’t been.” There was nothing to be gained replaying the painful memories of the past. The past couldn’t be changed. The only thing she had control over was the present. She couldn’t control the actions of others. She could only control her reactions. Deciding to tempt fate, and show it who was boss, she turned into the O’Neil driveway. Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw a curtain shift in the kitchen, but no one stepped outside.

Her breathing normalized, and the pain of the stitch faded away.

She started to run again, focusing on how it felt. The steady rhythm of her feet slapping the pavement was soothing. Despite the fact that it was overcast, the country air was invigorating, recharging her batteries. By the time she finished her five-mile loop around the lake, she was ready to take on the world.

She slowed to a walk as Lakeside Lane came into sight, giving her body a chance to cool down. Her breathing returned to normal and her heartbeat slowed considerably as she performed her usual post-run stretching routine at the street corner.

Now that the endorphins were flowing and her head had cleared, she mentally composed a list of what she had to get done. ONE: Call Marisol to find out how things were going with the Armstrong account. TWO: Check in with her insurance company. THREE: Figure out what to do about Laurie. The doctor hadn’t provided much hope that Donald Wright would recover from his injuries. On the other hand, the physician hadn’t been able to predict how long he might live. Emily hated the fact that any aspect of her life was being influenced by her father in any way, but she couldn’t leave her sister all alone here in Lakeside Acres. But there was no way, absolutely no way, Emily was going to stay here for an extended period of time. She had a life to get back to.

Still, she was feeling hopeful. She and Laurie had shared an easier camaraderie the night before. Before going to bed, her sister had even thanked her for showing up. Even though none of that good will had been in evidence this morning, Emily was still feeling more optimistic about the future than she had twenty-four hours earlier. She even felt positive enough to sing.

With a quick glance up and down the road to make sure that no one was within earshot, she strode toward the Wright driveway, launching into song. “Oh what a beautiful morning, oh what a beautiful day, I’ve got a wonderful feeling, everything’s goin’…” She tried to make sense of the still shape lying at the foot of the driveway. Whatever it was shifted slightly with a gust of wind. “Everything’s goin’…” It was as though her brain couldn’t decipher the message her eyes were transmitting. “Everything’s goin…oh shit!”

She broke into a run to cover the rest of the distance to the object, and then skidded to a halt once she reached her destination. From a distance she’d thought it was a garbage bag, but it wasn’t that.

It was an adolescent girl, not much older than Laurie, dressed in frilly, petal-pink, baby-doll pajamas.

For a moment Emily’s mind tricked her into believing the kid had slipped and fallen. She dropped to her knees beside her. “Are you okay?”

Tentatively Emily reached out a shaky hand toward the too-still teenager. The girl’s bare arm was cold and strangely stiff to the touch. It was only now that she was so close that Emily could see the waxy sheen of the girl’s slack features.

“Oh God…Oh God…Oh God. Please don’t be dead. Please.” She forced herself to slide her hand down to the body’s lifeless wrist to feel for a pulse, knowing full well she wouldn’t find one.

She rocked back on her heels, clamping a hand over her mouth. Her fingers were numb where they’d touched the cadaver. Closing her eyes, she tried to shut out the vision of the dead girl’s face, but she could still see her perfectly painted lips, blush-kissed cheeks and exquisitely curled eyelashes.

Bile rose in Emily’s throat, burning her. She barely had time to turn away from the corpse before she began to vomit violently, spewing the remains of dinner from the night before all over the road. She knelt on all fours shivering uncontrollably.

She had to get up. She had to do something, tell someone, but she was too weak, too scared. This was worse than her nightmares. This was real.