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Clara debated with herself. She was feeling a little woozy, perhaps going home and getting some rest wasn't a horrible idea. She should probably eat something, too; she’d skipped breakfast because her stomach had still been too queasy; it still was, but she couldn’t put off eating forever.
“You need to eat something, too,” Naomi added, as though reading her mind.
She was about to agree when the door suddenly swung open. She knew without lifting her head that it was Jonathon who had entered the room. Part of her didn’t want to ever see his face again, and part of her wanted to see it one last time. The part that wanted to see it again won out, and she slowly lifted her head.
“You can go, Clara.” His bright brown eyes locked onto hers, he looked like he had more to say but wasn't sure if he should say it or not.
“I’m not a suspect anymore?” That anyone, especially someone that she’d felt some connection to, could think that she would replicate the crimes that nearly cost her her life was devastating. Those six weeks that she’d spent locked in the attic had changed her forever. She’d become quiet and serious, preferring the company of characters in books to real people. When the real world was too hard to live in, she had found herself inhabiting a fantasy world. She’d become much pickier about who she allowed herself to grow close to. Most relationships she kept shallow and superficial, but the people that she let into her heart were there for life. Her circle may be small, but between her sister, her brothers, and a couple of very close and supportive friends, she never felt alone.
“You were never a suspect, Clara.”
“Maybe not to you,” she reluctantly conceded. She hadn’t seen even a hint of distrust or suspicion toward her in his face or his words. “But I was to your partner.”
“Not anymore.”
The way he said it had her mind bucking in refusal. “They're dead,” she said dully. “Lindsey and Kent, the children in the pictures you showed me earlier.”
“Yes. I'm sorry, Clara. They were just found on a park bench. I wish this weren't happening again. For those children and their families, and for you.”
But itwashappening again. And last time the police hadn’t known who the killers were. They hadn’t even had any suspects. And then after she and Tommy escaped, the killers just stopped. They'd been smart enough to stay off the police radar all these years; surely they'd be smart enough to stay off it now. Clara was sure it was the same people. Ithadto be. She knew in her heart it wasn't Tommy.
“Are you okay?” Jonathon stepped toward her in concern. “You’ve gone all pale.”
Waving him off, Naomi sat back down beside her. “You don’t look so good, Clara. Let me take you home; you can have something to eat, then take some painkillers and a sleeping pill and get some sleep.”
She ignored both of them. “Have they taken another child?”
“A seven-year-old girl, Katie Logan, went missing this morning while at the bank with her mother and little brother,” Jonathon replied. “We’re not sure if it’s connected yet, but she’s the right age, and she has blonde hair and blue eyes. For the moment, we’re working it as related, especially given they’ve killed the children they had, but we don’t want to count something else out by jumping to conclusions.”
They all knew that Katie Logan was the Doll Killers’ next victim. And what was worse was knowing that a little boy was about to join her. Then something occurred to her, and she looked up hopefully. “That means Tommy couldn’t have done it. He died yesterday—he couldn’t have left the children’s bodies to be found in the park, and he couldn’t have kidnapped that little girl.”
“The Doll Killers work as a team—you know that, Clara,” he reminded her patiently. “Tommy is dead, but his partner is still out there somewhere.”
Tommy wasn't the killer, but otherwise, he was right. The killers were still out there somewhere. How many more children were going to die?
“Let’s go, Clara. There’s nothing more you can do here.” Naomi took her arm and tugged her to her feet.
Feeling like she was trapped in a hazy stupor, Clara allowed her sister to help her stand, glad of Naomi’s steadying hand on her arm as the world shimmied around her. Any thoughts of going to work had flown away. She couldn’t concentrate on anything right now. She’d let her sister take her home and ask her to stay in case she had nightmares.
“Before you go, may I have a minute alone with Clara?” Jonathon directed the question to Naomi.
Her sister turned to her, “Clara?”
“It’s okay,” she assured Naomi; it was better to get this over and done with now. Say her goodbyes to whatever might have been so she could get closure and move on. “I’ll meet you at the car in a few minutes.”
“Okay. A couple of minutes though or I'm coming to find you.” Naomi shot Jonathon a threatening glare as she stalked from the room.
“Your sister is pretty protective of you,” Jonathon observed, somewhat hesitantly taking a seat at the table and gesturing for her to sit beside him.
“Naomi’s a protector. She does personal security,” she explained.
“I can picture her as a bodyguard,” Jonathon smiled.
“Yeah, she’s pretty tough. She’s a black belt in Taekwondo and a perfect shot, and she never lets anyone push her around.” Sometimes Clara was jealous of her sister’s strength, but she knew that Naomi’s had come at a price. A high price.
“You're tough, too.” Jonathon leaned closer, invading her personal space.
Running her hands through her hair, tucking and re-tucking it behind her ears. Jonathon made her feel self-conscious. “Not really.”
