Cold Sight (31 page)

“What, did you catch him sleeping in his shorts?” asked Mick, who, ignoring all boundaries, came walking into the room anyway.

Fortunately, Lexie had managed to find her skimpy underwear and her sweater and had pulled both on. Having stuck only one leg into her jeans as the other man intruded, though, she quickly leapt behind a chair with an embarrassed squeal.

“Would you please get out?” Aidan snapped.

“Whoa! Sorry, dude.” The other man made that same dramatic cover-the-eyes move as Julia, then backed out, his amusement a little more obvious than his boss’s had been.

Huh. And to think, yesterday he’d actually started to like being around these people again.

“Oh my God, I can’t believe this. Literally caught with our pants down.” Lexie looked like she wanted to sink through the floor.

Considering he wanted to pound Mick right through it, he thought he might be able to make a big enough hole.

She muttered something under her breath. “Fifty-two hours.”

“What?”

She didn’t repeat herself, instead saying, “They’re going to think I’m a skank.”

As ridiculous as that was, he didn’t laugh at her, hearing her genuine concern. “Actually, I believe they’re going to think you’re a miracle worker. As far as I can recall, none of them have ever seen me with a woman in all the time they’ve known me. I’m a little private that way.” Unable to resist, he lifted a hand to her cheek, rubbing his thumb across her full lips. “Today, I don’t mind so much.”

Other than Mick having seen her in her skimpy underwear.

Her stormy green eyes softened, and she tilted her head a little, curving into his touch, probably not even realizing she was doing it. Like they’d spent a whole lot more nights together than just the last one and were utterly familiar with one another.

But the mellow mood didn’t last very long. Julia interrupted it, calling, “Hurry up—we need to talk to you.”

Lexie pulled away and finished buttoning and zipping as she whispered, “I still can’t believe you forgot to lock the door.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, pulling his clothes on. “I didn’t lock it when they left last night. I thought we’d be leaving right away. Just zoned out about it.”

She’d managed to work her way into her jeans, and appeared as presentable as a thoroughly made-love-to woman could look. The bare feet, tangled hair, and well-kissed lips were acceptable, but he quickly realized she had not been able to find her bra, and that soft sweater now looked utterly sinful.

“I’ll go talk to them,” he said, bending over to pick up the scrap of pink lace she’d apparently overlooked. Dangling it by the strap from his fingertip, he handed it to her, trying not to laugh as she snatched it away.

“Go ahead and laugh—ha-ha, very funny,” she said. Then, smirking, added, “Just remember to zip up your fly before you go out there. Oh, but be careful with that zipper. I see I’m not the only one who didn’t have any luck finding all of my underclothes.”

He glanced down, realized she was right, that his fly was down, and actually did laugh. Even as he did so, he had to think how strange that laughter tasted in his mouth. It had been such a long time since he’d felt like this. Normal, a little goofy. Easily able to tease and play with a woman, to laugh at himself and at others.

Honestly, when he thought about it, he knew it had been longer than a year. Well before he’d decided to turn off and drop out of his life. In fact, he wasn’t sure he ever had been like this. His earliest memories didn’t include laughter—far from it. And his more recent ones, involving women, included sex but definitely not banter, flirtation, and good humor. Something about Lexie simply brought out an unexpected side to him.

Tucking his shirt into his pants, he walked out of the living room to the foyer, where Julia and Mick stood together. He opened his mouth to harass them for what they’d walked in on, then realized they weren’t smiling, and in fact looked very serious. Aidan suddenly realized their early arrival might not have been a mere accident or miscalculation. “What is it?”

“I guess you haven’t turned on the news today,” Julia replied. “We heard it on the radio this morning and decided to head down early. I tried to call your cell phone.”

Which was on his desk in the other room, out of earshot.

“Olivia and Derek are coming down later,” she added. He ran a hand through his tangled hair, trying to follow. “What, exactly, did you hear on the radio?”

“Something on the radio?” Lexie asked as she joined them from the other room, now fully dressed and trying to act like the whole embarrassing scene hadn’t just taken place. “Was it about Vonnie?”

Crossing his arms and shaking his head, Mick answered, “There was an attack last night, here in Granville.”

“Oh, no,” Lexie whispered.

“We can’t be sure it’s related to the other kidnap-pings. It has similarities, but doesn’t sound like this guy’s MO.”

“How so?” Aidan asked.

“Well, he stalked two girls together, stabbing one, taking the other. And it wasn’t down in the bad area where you were attacked, Lexie, but at a movie theater in North Granville.”

“Oh my God,” Lexie whispered. “Who? Who are the girls?”

“They aren’t releasing the identities of the victims,” Julia said. She appeared sympathetic, as if knowing Lexie was already running down the names of every teenager she knew in town. Considering he’d seen a number of them Friday night, himself, he completely empathized.

“Apparently they can’t make a positive ID yet. The news is saying there’s a complication identifying which girl was taken and which one was left bleeding on the ground outside the theater,” Mick explained.

Aidan didn’t follow. “Why? What kind of complication?”

The other man shook his head in sadness and disgust. “I guess they were sisters.”

Behind him, Lexie stiffened, and he knew her mind had immediately gone to the worst possible scenario. Aidan said, “There are a lot of families in this town, Lex. I’m sure it’s not Walter’s.”

“Tell me everything,” she told Mick. “What other details have they released?”

“That’s . . . that’s all, I think,” he explained. “I’m sorry.”

Lexie still wasn’t satisfied. Her jaw shaking, her eyes enormous, she grabbed two fistfuls of Mick’s shirt and physically shook him. “What else?”

Julia put a hand out, covering one of Lexie’s. “Wait, I do know a little more.”

Spinning around to look at the other woman, Lexie snapped, “Your ghost?”

Julia nodded, not taking offense at Lexie’s tone, obviously knowing she was distraught. Not sure whether she was about to deliver good news, or bad, she hesitated.

“Well?” Lexie demanded.

Julia cleared her throat. “The problem isn’t just that they’re sisters. They actually can’t tell for sure which one was taken and which was left because they are identical twins.”

“Oh God,” Lexie moaned. Aidan reached out to steady her, but Lexie, exhibiting the strength he already so admired, instead stiffened in resolve and simply said two words.

“Let’s go.”

Chapter 13

Sunday, 9:35 a.m.

Last night, when he’d dragged a limp, lifeless form into her cell, Vonnie had begged her captor to unchain her. The girl, whom she’d immediately recognized from school as one of the Kirby twins, looked half dead. She crumpled to a heap on her stomach, her face turned toward Vonnie, her dark hair made darker with blood, her clothes drenched in it.

Worst, she was utterly quiet. Deathly still.

Refusing to let Vonnie help her, the monster hadn’t spared a glance for his other victim on the hard floor before departing, saying he’d see them both—or maybe just one of them—in the morning. He’d slammed the metal door closed with a clang, cutting off their only source of light. She was left to lie here all through the dark night, not knowing if the person lying a few feet away from her was dying. Or already dead.

Vonnie had tried begging the girl to wake up—so she could unchain Vonnie, who could then save them both. She’d also, at times, held her breath in an effort to hear if Taylor or Jenny was taking any breaths of her own. She heard the creaking of the building and the groaning of old pipes and the scurry of creatures in the walls and her own heart beating. But from the unconscious girl, absolutely nothing.

Hour after hour, she peered into the darkness, straining her eyes, needing to know if she was talking to an injured friend, or a corpse.

At dawn, when sunshine had begun to slant in through the tiny barred window in the cell, she’d turned her head and watched. It had taken a long time, until that rectangle of light had created a solid shape on the cement, before she’d finally seen something.

A pale hand, moving ever so slightly against the filthy, blood-stained floor.

Thank you, Jesus
.

Once she’d known the other teen was alive, Vonnie had begun talking to her in earnest, whispering reassurances that they were going to survive, that they had each other. She got no response, yet she still whispered, talking about how she’d ended up here, the things he’d done to her, the way she’d been feeling stronger hour by hour. She vowed retribution and she swore out a need for blood and released some of the rage she’d been hearing only in her head for days.

For some reason, no matter which twin was actually here, the girl next to her had become Jenny, because Jenny was the one she knew best. Jenny had been one of her first new friends at school. Jenny had been the one who’d walked her out Monday night and offered her a ride.

“I’m sorry,” she said, starting to cry softly, then harder, wishing, for both their sakes, she’d taken that ride.

Vonnie tried to suck it up, tried to force herself to stop since she had no way to wipe away the tears or the snot. She hadn’t really lost herself to weeping since she’d been brought in here—other than tears she’d shed when asking the monster not to kidnap somebody else. But the long, desperate hours of waiting for any kind of sign, and the continuing silence after that one small hand movement, appeared to have finally cracked her spirit.

“It’s my fault,” she said, her voice shaking with emotion and fatigue. “My fault he took you and I’m so sorry.”

She didn’t know if Jenny heard or was just coming out of whatever their attacker had done to her, but at last the girl let out a low groan. It was the first sound she’d made in hours.

“Jenny?” She bent her head as much as she could, peering down over the cot. “Oh God, please wake up. Come on. It’s daytime; we haven’t got much time.”

Another groan.

“Oh, please, girl, please,” she hissed. “He could come back at any time. You’re not tied up; you can move if you only wake up. You need to snap out of it, come over here, and help unchain me so we can both get the hell out of here.”

She knew even as she said the words that it was wishful thinking. Jenny wasn’t even conscious, so the idea that she might be able to aid in their escape was crazy.

Still, the girl tried. As Vonnie watched, one of Jenny’s bloody arms began to slide upward, the fingers inching on the rough cement. Making no sound, still flat on the cold floor, she kept trying, extending her arm outward, like she was trying to grab something. Her eyes remained closed, her bruised face expressionless. No other part of her moved except that arm, that hand, which she pushed and pushed.

“Come on, girl,” Vonnie whispered. “You’re okay; wake up, now.”

Jenny’s arm made a faint scratching sound as she strove on, until her fingertips emerged into the bright rectangle of sunshine on the floor. Vonnie wanted to cheer for her, watching as her hand pressed on, an inch at a time, into the light. It broke her heart to see how her friend was trying, how she reached for her, though she obviously had no strength to do more.

Finally, when the arm was fully extended, that pale, scratched hand slowly lifted a few inches off the floor, the fingers flexing, reaching . . . reaching. The tip of her index finger quivered with the effort to stay straight as the others curled down toward her palm.

Vonnie had taken an art history class, and she was instantly reminded of the ceiling on the Sistine Chapel. That extended arm, the fingertip touching God, all hope and prayer and faith expressed in the slightest of touches. It made her gasp, stopped her heart.

Then the hand crumpled to the floor. All movement ceased. And Vonnie’s cellmate succumbed again to whatever blackness had kept her still throughout the long night hours.

“Thank you,” she whispered, not sure she’d ever seen anything so heartbreaking as that poor, pathetic girl reaching to her from the shadows. “Thank you for trying.”

Full of rage now, Vonnie strained against the chains, arching her back, tugging until her shoulders ached. She wished that bastard would come in here now; she felt fully capable of murdering him with her bare hands. She only needed one free and she’d kill the motherfucker for everything he’d done—most recently for causing the sad desperation of the girl lying on the floor.

“Gonna get you,” she muttered. “You’re gonna pay for this.” She worked on her hands, flexing and exercising them as she had since they’d fallen asleep yesterday, wanting to keep them limber. She pulled her hands apart, working that drying, tired tape, stretching it just a little farther.

She’d have a chance; she had to believe that, simply had to, and she wanted to be ready when it came. Because she was going to survive this.

“And you’re going to survive it, too,” she told her friend. “I’m going to get us out of here. I swear to you, I’ll get us out.”