Scream for Me (21 page)

Well, except for Simon, he thought. They’d thought they’d been safe with him dead all those years. He supposed they should thank Daniel Vartanian for killing the scary SOB once and for all, but the thought of thanking Daniel Vartanian for anything made him sick. Simon had been scary, but Daniel was smug and that made him angry.

Now both Simon and Wade were gone, as were Rhett and Jared.

Now they numbered only three. Both Simon and Wade had died beyond his reach, leaving the whereabouts of their keys in question. A week ago he would have thought finding their keys would solve all of his problems. But now the keys were the least of his problems.

Janet and Claudia, both dead, found just like Alicia Tremaine.
And I didn’t kill them
. Neither had his boss.
I was an idiot to ever think that he would.
Harvard was sick and twisted, but not stupid.

They’d all been stupid kids, but now they were men. Leaders of the community. They’d managed this uneasy truce among themselves for years, no one wanting to lose the lives they’d built for themselves. The respectability they’d earned.

Somebody else had killed Janet and Claudia, someone who’d mimicked Alicia Tremaine’s death down to the smallest detail. It might have been a copycat.

Except that somebody knew about the keys. Somebody was taunting them. He thought of Rhett Porter. Somebody wanted them to panic. Rhett had panicked and now he was dead.

Now they were three. If no one else panicked, there was no way anyone else would find out, no way they could be linked to Alicia Tremaine.

Because they hadn’t killed her. They’d raped Alicia Tremaine, but they hadn’t killed her nor had they dumped her blanket-wrapped body in a ditch. The man that had killed Alicia Tremaine had been rotting behind bars for thirteen years. No one could pin anything on them now, as long as they stayed calm. They just needed to stay calm.

Stay calm. And think.
He needed to find out who was killing these women before Vartanian did. If Vartanian got to this bastard first . . . Whoever had killed Janet and Claudia knew about the club. The bastard would tell. And everything they’d built for themselves would be taken away. Destroyed.

I need to find out what the hell Daniel Vartanian knows
. Why had Vartanian, of all people, been assigned to this case? Did Vartanian know? Did he know about Simon . . .
and us
? Had Vartanian found Simon’s key?

He gritted his teeth and tapped his brakes. The car in front of him was crawling, in no hurry at all. He flashed his headlights and immediately the car changed lanes, allowing him to pass.
Better
.

He focused on the open road ahead. It helped him to clear his mind, to think. If Vartanian suspected anything, he wasn’t saying, but Daniel had always been the closemouthed kind. Scary in his own way with those eyes of his.

And Vartanian had taken up with Alex Fallon, a major problem in her own right. Even if they found out who’d killed Janet and Claudia, the damage had been done. Everyone was talking about Alicia Tremaine, how she’d died. And now, having Alex Fallon walking around town, looking so much like Alicia, it was just fanning the flames.

Alex Fallon was walking around town because Bailey was still missing. He no longer had control over what happened to Bailey Crighton, but he did have control over what happened to Alex Fallon. His guy had fucked up big-time this afternoon. The man was only supposed to watch Fallon, report back, stop her from talking to the wrong people. He’d never intended him to run her down in the street. There were other, more discreet ways of making people go away.

This he knew. He’d get rid of Alex Fallon, discreetly. Then he’d find out who was taunting them with dead women and keys. Before Vartanian got to the bastard first.

Because if Daniel found out what had really happened, nothing else would matter. They’d go to prison.
I’ll die first.
He pressed the accelerator to the floor, speeding back to town. He had no intention of going to prison or dying first. He had work to do.

Mack lowered his camera, a grim smile on his face. He’d known they’d turn on each other. He hadn’t expected it so quickly. But any time any of the four had taken a drive out of town in the last month, Mack had followed. Usually he was rewarded with wonderful new secrets he knew none of the men would want revealed, and of course tonight had been no exception.

Now the four were three and Mack was one step closer to the culmination of his dream. He clicked through the photos he’d just taken. His plan for the remaining three was solid, but these photos would make for a handy Plan B should his base plan fall apart. Always have a contingency, a back door, an escape hatch. A Plan B. Just another one of those prison lessons he’d learned well.

Speaking of lessons, he had another to deliver. In a few hours, he’d be the proud owner of one more girl and a very nice ’Vette.

Chapter Eleven

Dutton, Tuesday, January 30, 7:30 p.m.

W
ell.” Meredith sipped at her drink, looking out of the corners of both eyes like a spy. “Nothing like a being a little conspicuous.”

Alex gave her a rueful look across the table at Presto’s Pizza Parlor. “I tried to warn you this would happen. People have been staring at me all week.” She looked up at Daniel, who’d made a big show of draping his arm around her shoulders as soon as they’d been seated in the booth. “And you’re not helping.”

He shrugged. “They already know I kissed you last night.”

“And that he went into Bailey’s house with you,” Meredith added.

Alex winced. “How? That just happened a few hours ago.”

“Heard it at the jukebox. You fainted and Daniel carried you out in his arms.”

“I did not faint. And I walked out of that house on my own two feet.” She pursed her lips. “I swear to God. These people should just get lives.”

“They did,” Daniel murmured. “Ours. It’s not often two prodigal children return home at the same time.”

“And start fornicatin’.” Meredith lifted her hand. “Their word, not mine. I swear.”

Alex narrowed her eyes. “Whose?”

Daniel pulled her closer. “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “We’re here and we’re fodder for public consumption until something more interesting happens.”

Meredith looked at the cartoon Hope had colored on the placemat. “Very nice, Hope.”

Alex sighed. “And very red,” she said, so quietly only Daniel could hear. He squeezed her shoulder in silent reply. She looked up at him. “Did Agent Randall find anything that helps you on the other two women?” she whispered. He pressed his forefinger to her lips and shook his head.

“Not here,” he whispered. He looked around, taking in the faces watching them. His eyes became hard and circumspect and she knew he was wondering if the person responsible for two deaths and Bailey’s disappearance was there, watching them.

Watching me,
she thought, quelling the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. She stared at her scraped palms. She’d removed the bulky bandages, but she had only to glance at her hands and the shock of the afternoon returned. The screeching tires, the screams—both those of the bystanders and the ones in her head.

Someone had tried to kill her. It still hadn’t completely sunk in.

Someone had killed two women. That hadn’t completely sunk in either.

Someone had taken Bailey. Although she’d known it, knowing blood had been spilled made it more real. She thought about the house. Now that she was no longer there, she could consider the event with a bit more objectivity.

“Nobody ever asked me before,” she murmured, then realized she’d said it aloud.

Daniel pulled back to look at her face. “Asked you what?”

She met his eyes. “What they screamed.”

His blue eyes narrowed slightly. “Really? That surprises me. So . . . did you know what they said before, or did you just remember today?”

I hate you. I wish you were dead
. She looked away. “I knew before, but standing there . . . it was so clear. I could hear her voice again. Like it was yesterday.”

His hand moved under her hair to cup the back of her head, his thumb finding the exact place in her neck that throbbed. “Who says ‘No’?”

She swallowed hard. “That would be me. I think. I’m not sure.” His thumb continued to work its magic on her neck and a little of the tension ebbed from her shoulders. She dropped her chin to her chest and . . . absorbed. “You do that well, too.”

His chuckle warmed her. “Good to know.” Too soon he stopped, withdrawing his hand. “Pizza’s here.”

The pan slid across the table and Alex looked up into the face of the waitress, a woman with a harsh face and red lipstick. She looked familiar, but Alex couldn’t place her face. She wore too much makeup and her eyes were hard. She was somewhere between twenty-five and thirty-five. Her name tag said “Sheila” and her eyes were glued to Daniel’s face, but not in an alluring way. She seemed to be weighing her words.

“You’re Daniel Vartanian,” Sheila finally said flatly.

He was searching her face. “I am,” he said. “But I don’t remember you. I’m sorry.”

Her red lips thinned. “No, you wouldn’t remember me. We ran in slightly different circles. My father worked at the mill.”

Alex’s shoulders stiffened. The paper mill employed half the town at one time or another. Bailey’s father had worked there. That’s where Craig Crighton had been that night. The night her mother needed him.
The night I needed my mother
. She closed her eyes.
Quiet. Be quiet.
Daniel’s thumb returned to her neck, applying pressure, and once again the tension began to ebb, making room for other memories to surface.

“You’re Sheila Cunningham,” Alex said. “We sat next to each other in biology.”
The year I didn’t finish. The year Alicia died.

Sheila nodded. “I didn’t think you’d remember me.”

Alex frowned. “There’s a lot I don’t remember.”

Sheila nodded again. “There’s a lot of that going around.”

“What can we do for you, Sheila?” Daniel asked.

Sheila’s jaw tightened. “You were out at Bailey’s house today.”

Meredith looked up, alert and listening. The people in the booth behind them had turned, obviously listening as well. Sheila didn’t seem to notice. Her eyes had narrowed and a vein throbbed in her neck.

“People in this town would have you believe Bailey was a tramp. That she was trashy. But it’s not true.” Sheila aimed a look at Hope. “She was a good mother.”

“You say ‘was,’ ” Daniel said quietly. “Do you know what happened to her?”

“No. If I did, I’d tell you. But I know she didn’t walk away from that kid.” She sucked in her cheeks, visibly fighting to hold whatever she really wanted to say in check. “Everyone’s all upset that those rich girls are dead. Nobody cared about the regular girls. Nobody cares about Bailey.” She looked at Alex. “Except you.”

“Sheila.” The barked order came from the window to the kitchen. “Get back here.”

Sheila shook her head, a mocking smile on her lips. “Oops. Gotta go. Said too much. Wouldn’t want to rock the boat or upset the powers that be.”

“Why?” Daniel asked. “What would happen if you rocked the boat?”

Her red lips twisted in a sneer. “Ask Bailey. Oh, wait. You can’t.” She spun on her heel and went back to the kitchen, smacking the swinging door with the flat of her hand.

Alex leaned back against the bench seat. “Well.”

Daniel was watching the door to the kitchen, which was still swinging. “Well, indeed.” He turned his attention to the pizza, pulling it onto their plates, but there was a troubled frown on his face. “Eat up.”

Meredith pushed a plate under Hope’s downturned face, but the little girl only stared at the food. “Come on, Hope,” she cajoled. “Eat.”

“Has she eaten at all?” Daniel said.

“Eventually she eats if I leave it in front of her long enough,” Meredith answered, “but we’ve only eaten sandwiches. This is our first real meal since I got here.”

“I’m sorry,” Alex said. “I haven’t been a very good hostess.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything.” Meredith bit into the pizza and closed her eye in appreciation. “It’s good, Daniel. You were right.”

Daniel took a bite and nodded. “I guess for some things you can go back.” Then he sighed when the door to the outside opened. “Wonderful.”

A big man in an expensive suit crossed the restaurant, scowling. “The mayor,” Alex murmured to Meredith. “Garth Davis.”

“I know,” Meredith murmured back. “I saw his picture in the paper this morning.”

“Daniel.” The mayor stopped at their table. “You promised to call.”

“When I had something to tell you. I don’t have anything to tell you yet.”

The mayor put both hands on the table and leaned forward, getting in Daniel’s face. “You said to give you a day. You said you were working on it. And here you sit.”

“And here I sit,” Daniel said mildly. “Get out of my face, Garth.”

The mayor didn’t budge. “I want an update.” He was speaking loudly, for his audience, Alex thought. His constituency. Politicians.

Daniel leaned in closer. “Get out of my face, Garth,” he murmured, leveling the mayor a look so cold even Alex flinched. “Now.” The mayor slowly straightened and Daniel drew a breath. “Thank you, Mayor Davis. I can appreciate your wanting to have the most recent information. You need to appreciate that even if I had anything to tell you, this isn’t the place for me to share it. I did call your office this afternoon with an update. The phone rang, but no one answered.”

Davis narrowed his eyes. “I was out at Congressman Bowie’s this afternoon. I didn’t get the message. I’m sorry, Daniel.” But his eyes said he was anything but. “I’ll be sure to talk to my aide and find out why he didn’t answer your call.”

“Do that. If you’d still like an update, I’m glad to talk when I’m not in a public place.”

The mayor’s cheeks flushed. “Of course. This has been a terrible day, finding out about Janet and Claudia.”

“And Bailey Crighton,” Alex said coldly.

Mayor Davis had the good grace to look embarrassed. “And Bailey. Of course. Daniel, I’ll be in my office most of the evening. Call me if you would.”

“That’s enough to spoil your appetite,” Alex said when he was gone.

“Alex.” Meredith’s voice was strained and Alex immediately saw why.

Hope had pushed the cheese off the pizza and had smeared sauce all over her own hands and all over her face. She looked like she was covered in blood. And she was rocking in a way that made Alex’s blood run cold.

Daniel was quick to react. He stood up, wiping the sauce from Hope’s face and hands with a napkin. “Hope, honey,” he said, injecting a humor into his voice that Alex knew he didn’t feel. “Look at this mess. And on your pretty new dress, too.”

The couple in the next booth turned around and Alex recognized Toby Granville and his wife. “Can I help?” Toby asked, frowning his concern.

“No, thanks,” Daniel said easily. “We’re just going to take her home and get her cleaned up. You know how kids are.” He pulled his wallet from his pocket and Sheila came from the kitchen, a wet towel in her hands.

She’d obviously been watching. As had everyone else in the place.

Daniel handed her a folded-up bill and Alex could see the white edge of his business card poking above the green ink. “Keep the change.” He pulled Alex from the booth and she winced, her knees stiff. But she made her legs move, following Meredith to the door. Daniel scooped Hope up into his arms. “Let’s go, pretty girl. Let’s get you home.”

Alex gave Sheila a last look, then followed Daniel to his car.

In less than five minutes they were back at the bungalow. Meredith ran ahead of them, and when Alex limped across the threshold, Meredith had the Princess Fiona hairstyling head on the table. Meredith took Hope from Daniel’s arms and put her in front of the styling head, then crouched to look into Hope’s face.

“Show us what happened to your mother, Hope,” Meredith said urgently. She grabbed the can of red Play-Doh and shook it out into her palm. “Show us.”

Hope smeared a glob on the Fiona head. She repeated it, until red Play-Doh covered Fiona’s face and hair. When finished she stared at Meredith helplessly.

Alex felt the breath seep from her lungs. “She saw it all.”

“Which means she may have seen who did it,” Daniel said, his voice tight. “We’ll go to the shelter tomorrow, Alex. I want to get Hope in with a forensic artist tonight. Meredith, my boss wanted me to take Hope into our department psychologist tomorrow morning, but I think that needs to be tonight, too.”

Alex bristled. “Meredith is a fine child psychologist. And Hope trusts her.”

But Meredith was nodding. “I’ve gotten too close, Alex. Call your consult, Daniel. I’ll help in whatever way I can.”

Atlanta, Tuesday, January 30, 9:00 p.m.

There were a dozen pretty girls at the bar already, but Mack knew exactly which one he’d be taking home. He’d known for five long years, ever since the night she and her two friends had pulled their cute little trick and taken his life away. They’d thought themselves so clever, so smart. Now Claudia and Janet were so dead. And Gemma would soon follow. A fine buzz of anticipation singed his skin as he approached her. However she responded, her evening would end the same.

Done, dead, and wrapped in a brown wool blanket. Just one more tool to terrify the pillars of Dutton. He leaned against the bar, ignoring the protest of the woman behind him as he crowded her off her stool. He had eyes only for his prize.

Gemma Martin. She’d been his first fuck. He’d be her last. They’d been sixteen and her price had been an hour behind the wheel of his ’Vette. She’d been drunk and put a dent in his left fender that night. She was well on her way to being drunk tonight, and the dent he left would be in her. Mack planned to enjoy his revenge very much.

“Excuse me,” he said over the blare of the band.

She turned her head, sweeping her eyes from his head to his feet in blatant assessment, her eyes sharpening with interest. Five years ago she’d laughed at him. Tonight, she was interested and completely unaware of who he was.