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“I’m curious.”
“Maybe you like Jenna. She’s a looker and if I were forty, no, thirty years younger, I’d make a play for her.”
Rick laughed, but felt no cheer at the idea of anyone else dating Jenna. “She likes working here.”
KC ran his hand over his graying hair. “They do say snow on the roof doesn’t mean there ain’t fire in the stove.”
“Right.”
KC shrugged. “Might be for the best you stay clear of her.”
“Why?”
“She’s a loner and, if I haven’t lost my touch, I’d say she’s not going to stick around Nashville long. She’ll get what answers she can and move back to Baltimore soon.”
“Why do you say that?” His tone carried more annoyance than he’d intended.
“She only took a leave of absence. And an attractive gal like her, there’s got to be someone waiting for her back home.”
Rick tightened his jaw. He wasn’t in the market for a woman so he shouldn’t care one way or the other. But he did.
KC laughed. “You got the same poker face as your old man.”
“What’s that mean?”
“Means you go all stony and silent when something is bothering you.”
“Nothing is bothering me.”
“Bullshit.”
Rick shook his head. “You’re pissing me off.”
KC laid his hand on Rick’s shoulder, a move he’d not have tolerated from many. “If you like her, then tell her.”
“You make it sound easy.”
“Closed up and alone isn’t the best life plan, kid. I’m living it and it sucks.”
When she slowly awoke, she was tied to a bed. Hands fastened to the headboard and feet to the baseboard. As the haze cleared from her body she was aware of two things: her body hurt and the room carried with it the heavy scent of diesel.
“She’s awake!” No missing the excitement, even the childlike glee in the voice. Her mouth was as dry as cotton and her head pounded.
Memories trickled back. Horrible images and feelings rushed over her as her stomach turned. Bile rose in her throat and she thought she’d throw up until she realized her mouth had been duct-taped closed.
She forced back the illness rising in her throat and tried focusing on the room. Twisting her head, she looked around the room. Small, it was furnished only with a bed.
“Good, you’re awake.”
The man’s voice had her turning her head sharply to the left. She couldn’t speak to beg but she was ready to do whatever it took to save her life.
But the moment she gazed into the man’s eyes, soulless, dark, and delighted, she realized even if she could speak, her words would have fallen on deaf ears.
He moved slowly toward the bed and she recognized him instantly. The man outside her house. The man who’d done vicious things to her body. The man from the post office.
“Recognize me now, don’t you?” Glee resonated from each word.
She nodded, hoping to keep him calm. Perhaps she could find a way to reason with him and find a way out of this terrible nightmare.
He puffed out his chest. “I’m in charge now.” When she didn’t respond, his gaze darkened. “Acknowledge me. I’m in charge.”
She nodded.
“You have what you wanted. It’s time.” This second voice came from the shadows.
The package-delivery-office man shook his head. “I’m not ready to let her go. I want to hear her beg again.”
“You’ve had your chance. Do what you have to now.”
“I don’t want to.” He managed a pout and lost a good bit of his menace as he regressed to the maturity level of a small child.
She glanced toward the shadows. Do what? She’d thought Package Delivery Man was in charge but now she realized he was just as much a pawn as she.
The man from the delivery store reached into his pocket and pulled out a gun. He leveled it toward her head. She knew in this moment that no matter what she did, she was gone . . . leaving this earth. And in these last seconds, they wanted her fear.
In these last seconds, she could die crying and begging or she could cling to what little dignity she had left. She had control over how it would end. She had the power not to show them the tears they wanted.
She stared at Package Delivery Man directly, unblinking, hoping her hate and resentment reached out to him like a hard slap. For a moment his grin held but then as he stared into her gaze, he blinked and then drew back a fraction as if he were afraid. The gun trembled in his hand.
“Stop looking at me like that.” Package Delivery Man jabbed the gun at her like a man trying to chase away a snake or a bear.
She narrowed her gaze, doubling down on her hate and resentment.
“You don’t have control.” The voice came from the shadows.
When she glanced toward the voice she saw only a silhouetted outline and the red glow of a camcorder light.
Package Delivery Man moistened wet lips. His hand trembled harder. “Bitch, be afraid!”
He struck her with the butt of the gun. The pain cracked through her skull sending her thoughts skittering and teetering. It took a moment for her to recover and push away from the pain. She blinked and then slowly looked up at him. Her vision was blurred now but her resentment sharper and brighter than before.
Package Delivery Man shook his head, angry and disappointed like a small child.
And then he fired.
Chapter Twelve
Tuesday, August 22, 8 A.M.
Jenna’s bride had been thrilled with her portrait when she’d picked it up yesterday. She’d paid Jenna plus a twenty percent tip and had promised to spread the word about her. Jenna had pocketed the money and thanked her.
“My friends all bet you’d not finish it.”
“Why?”
“We all saw the news.”
“Ah. I suppose that isn’t what you expected when you hired me.”
The woman laughed. “No. Are you staying in the area?”
“The reasons to stay are dwindling. You were one of my last ties.”
“If you decide to stay, let me know. I can send work your way.”
“Thanks.”
After the bride left, Jenna had one more item to check off her list. She’d not wanted to do it, even knowing it had to be done.
She downshifted her car and pulled into the cemetery where her family was buried. She drove past a white brick building on her left, the caretaker/sales center, and drove up the hill past the lake. The land had a serene quality that would have been pleasant if not for the reason for her visit.
Past the still waters of the lake, she followed the directions she’d mapped out on her computer. The map had sat in her glove box, waiting for her to find the courage.
She parked at the top of the hill next to a large oak tree just as the caretaker had told her when she’d called two weeks ago. “Can’t miss ’em. They’re right by the tree and there’s a real nice bench at their spot. Top quality.”
Out of her car, she smoothed damp hands over her jeans and made her way toward the bench. In front of it was a large headstone that read THOMPSON. The urn in front of the headstone was turned up, empty but cleaned and ready as if expecting flowers. Jenna smoothed her hands over her jeans, sorry now she’d not brought flowers.
Drawing in a slow, steady breath, she sat on the bench. Under THOMPSON were the names of her father, mother, and sister. Her entire family was here, gone forever.
She’d have been at their side if not for Ronnie.
She sat down cross-legged in front of the plot and glanced at her empty hands, wondering why she’d not brought flowers. “Sorry about that.”
Closing her eyes, she allowed her mind to return to that terrible night when her world changed forever. For a moment, her mind pinged between the events of the last few days: the Lost Girl’s sketch; the call from Mike she’d not answered; the visit to her house with Susan and, of course, Rick. Her heart raced and
she wanted to leave this place.
But she kept her eyes closed and held steady. Slowly, her mind stilled.
Memories did not rush back. There was no great flash of insight. Pieces did not tumble into place. But there were whispers. She remembered going to bed early because she’d not been well. She had been annoyed and sick of being treated like a baby. That brought a smile. What five-year-old hadn’t protested bedtime? That had been a normal reaction, maybe the last normal emotion. She’d fallen into a deep sleep.
Another memory crashed into her thoughts and her smile faded. She’d awoken to a hand on her mouth. The smell of booze and cigarettes. Foul-smelling.
Her memories faded and facts, supplied by old articles on the Internet, filled in gaps. Ronnie put her in his truck, tape on her mouth, her hands and feet bound.
Newspaper reports filled in the other details. He’d returned to her family’s home and shot her father. Then he’d shot her mother. And then, he’d waited until her sister had come home and when she’d entered the kitchen and likely seen the bodies of her dead parents, he’d shot her.
