She Can Scream (31 page)

Her research told her that killers often blended in with society. That’s how they got away with their crimes. Still, she had to try. What if she didn’t and another woman died tonight?

Natalie had been murdered because of her involvement with Brooke. She couldn’t let another one of her girls suffer the same fate. The killer was fixated on Brooke. Who knew what else he was planning. She had to do everything possible to find him before he acted out another sick plan.

Luke glanced at Brooke in the passenger seat of his car. “You called Ian earlier. How did he take the news?”

“Not well. He wants to keep the kids until this is all over.”

Great. More incentive for Brooke to pursue the killer.

“Why did I let you talk me into this?” Luke parked in front of a small brick house on Second Street. A discrete sign on the mailbox read O
WEN
Z
IMMERMAN
P
HOTOGRAPHY
in tasteful print.

“Because the association is weak and you don’t think we’re accomplishing anything.” Brooke got out of the car. “Basically, you’re humoring me.”

“So, why are we here?” And why did the idea of paying the local photographer a visit give Luke the willies?

Brooke led the way. “You said your program would take about an hour to run. We might as well do something useful while we’re waiting.”

He followed her up the walk. Hell, in those tight yoga pants, he’d follow her anywhere. A matching yard sign and arrow directed them to the side door, marked
STUDIO
.

Luke knocked. He angled his body slightly ahead of Brooke’s, just in case.

The door opened. The man who opened it was about forty. Shaved head. Shorter than Luke but stockier. Probably strong enough to carry a dead body.

Surprise puckered Owen’s brows. “Brooke?”

“Hi, Owen.” Brooke smiled and introduced Luke. “I’m sorry, I should have called first. Did we catch you at a bad time? I wanted to ask you a few questions about getting some family portraits done. For my mother. For Christmas. Is it too late to order for the holidays?”

“No, it’s OK.” Owen stepped back. “Come in.”

The left side of the studio was bare, dark wood floors, white walls. Lights on wheels and props were pushed into the far corner. Roll-down screens, like giant roller-window shades, hung from the back wall. In the front of the room, a couch, two chairs, and a coffee table were set up in conversation mode. Photo albums were spread on the table.

“What did you have in mind?” Owen asked.

“I’m not sure. Something plain but not cliché, if you know what I mean.” Brooke rolled a vague hand in the air. “I thought maybe you’d have some ideas.”

“Let me grab the proofs from a few recent sessions.” Owen walked to the coffee table. He rooted through a few stacks of small photo albums and selected two. He gestured to the sofa. “Have a seat and take a look at these. See if anything catches your eye.”

Brooke dropped onto the couch. Owen took the chair diagonal to her. Luke stayed on his feet. Sitting and looking at pictures wasn’t going to get them anywhere.

“Do you have a restroom?” Luke asked.

Owen pointed. “Through that doorway. First room on the left.”

“Thanks.” Luke followed Owen’s directions.

“Oh, I like this.” Brooke’s voice faded as Luke closed the door behind him.

Just as he’d hoped, a small office was opposite the bathroom. Luke ducked inside. If Brooke wanted answers about Owen Zimmerman, Luke was going to get them for her. Then he was going to get her somewhere safe for the night.

A computer hibernated on the desk. Images faded and appeared in a screen saver slideshow. He tapped the space bar and kept his ear on the muffled conversation in the other room. A quick perusal of the desk drawers didn’t yield anything interesting. The credenza was equally uneventful. The computer blinked to life. Luke took a quick peek at the hard drive files. Most of the files were full of images, as to be expected from a photographer, organized in folders by client name. A few layers down he pulled up an obscurely labeled folder:
SPECIAL JOB
.

The thumbnails were shocking enough Luke didn’t click to open any of them. He pulled out his keychain. A flash drive the size of a stick of gum dangled. Luke inserted it in the USB slot and copied the entire folder. Then he closed the files window and
slipped out to the restroom to flush the toilet and run the sink for a few seconds.

In the studio, Owen had shifted to the couch next to Brooke, far too close considering Luke’s new opinion of the photographer.

Brooke smiled. “What do you think of this?”

It was an outdoor shot of a family in jeans and sweaters gathered around a German shepherd.

“Nice and natural.” Luke put on his game face and sat on Brooke’s other side.

She showed him a half-dozen pictures. “Which one do you think the kids will like?”

“The one with the dog, no question.” Luke would have said anything to get Brooke away from Owen. The flash drive was burning a hole in his pocket.

“I like that one too.” Brooke closed the book.

Owen opened an agenda book. “Do you want to set up a time to do the shoot?”

Brooke pursed her lips. “I’ll call you next week to make an appointment. I have to see which days the kids are with their father.”

“No problem.” Owen closed his book and set it on the table.

Brooke stood. “Thanks, Owen. My parents are going to love this picture.”

“Thanks for coming by.” Owen showed them to the door. “Talk to you next week.”

They walked to the car and got in. Luke started the engine.

Brooke hooked her seatbelt. “Maybe I was wrong about Owen.”

“You weren’t.” Luke pulled away from the curb. “While you were looking at pictures, I took a quick tour through Owen’s computer.”

Brooke’s head snapped up. “I’m impressed.”

Luke clenched his fingers on the steering wheel. “Don’t be. What I did was illegal and dangerous. In fact, I can’t believe I did it. You’re obsession is contagious.”

“What did you find? Let me see it.”

“No way.” Luke turned toward Main Street and switched on his headlights. Above the quaint town, clouds were rolling in, bringing early twilight with them. “I’m handing the copies of the files over to Chief O’Connell. Although I obtained them illegally, so I’m not sure what he’ll do with them.”

“With what?”

“Pictures. Seriously, once you see them, you can’t unsee them. I’d really like to unsee those pictures. I’m not going to show you.”

“Will you just tell me what the hell you found?”

“Some very disturbing BDSM porn.”

Brooke shrugged. “People are into that these days.”

“Are you?”

Brooke blushed. “No, but to each his or her own.”

“This wasn’t a little bondage or submission session for bored suburban housewives to get off.” He felt like he needed to bleach his eyeballs. “This was violent.”

And bloody.

Scrape
.

Maddie bristled as the branch outside rubbed against her window. The hairs on her neck lifted.

Just the wind. Just the wind. Just the wind.

But repeating the facts didn’t subdue her rampant paranoia. Her brain knew she was safe here with her parents, but her heart jolted at every noise, no matter how routine. Would her terror ever fade? Would she ever get back to normal? Tomorrow she had an appointment with a psychiatrist. Her dad was taking her, but she was already dreading leaving the house.

She’d survived her attack, only
she
was the one imprisoned.
He
was still out there, free to do whatever he wanted. Her parents had tried to shield her, but Maddie had seen the news about the murdered girl. That could have been her. That would have been her if it hadn’t been for Brooke.

Her gaze shot to the window, now black with nightfall, but all she could see was her own reflection. Anyone outside, however, could see her.

Maddie’s phone buzzed.

She picked it up and smiled. She opened the message from Tyler.

M
ISS YOU
.

Her grin spread when the pain in her face was barely an ache. She texted Tyler back.

U
2.

He’d stopped to see her yesterday and brought her flowers. He’d also offered to drive her to school and work when she was ready to go back. Until her attacker was caught, Tyler didn’t want her going anywhere alone.

He cared about her, even after she’d broken up with him. Despite the chill of knowing her assailant was still on the loose, warmth glimmered inside Maddie. She wasn’t ready to go back to work or anywhere else just yet—she was barely able to tolerate an hour or two in her room alone, but someday…

Another message from Tyler came through. He was stopping to see her when he got off work.

Scrape.

The high pitch of the sound sent an ache through her teeth. She dropped her phone on the bed and eased to her feet, slowly and carefully. The room spun but settled in a few seconds. The carpet was soft under her bare feet as she walked to the window. She stayed to the edge of the room so she wasn’t visible to anyone outside. The property was backed by woods—the same woods in which she’d been attacked. He could be out there. Watching. Waiting.

Maddie yanked the curtains closed. The sudden movement sent a shaft of pain through the sore muscles of her shoulders. Her head and face had taken the worst of his beating, but the rest of her body hadn’t escaped injury. She went to the top of the stairs. Her hand gripped the banister in case a dizzy spell intruded.

At the bottom of the steps, her feet protested the cold wood floor of the landing. Maddie shivered as she turned toward the family room at the rear of the house. “Dad?”

Her father was in the doorway before she’d traversed the fifteen feet of hallway. His rifle dangled in the crook of his elbow. In his late fifties, balding with a belly that showed his addiction to both Pringles and his recliner, her father wasn’t a threatening physical specimen. But he bagged his buck every season. Maddie had no doubt he’d love nothing better than mounting her attacker’s head on the wall.

His expression softened. “What do you need, sweetheart?”

“Could you trim that big branch on the tree out back tomorrow? It’s rubbing on my window and…”

“I’ll do it right now.”

Maddie glanced at the window. Anxiety rolled through her in a greasy wave. “Tomorrow’s fine.”

But her dad was already moving. “It’ll take three seconds.” He handed the rifle off to her mother. “It’s loaded.”

Mom accepted the heavy weapon with an awkward shift of her slight frame, and Dad headed for the back door.

A fresh burst of fear sprinted through Maddie’s belly. “You don’t have to do this tonight. It’s raining.”

“Sweetheart.” He flipped a wall switch next to the door. A small circle of light spilled onto the deck. “I’ll be right back. It’s barely spitting.”

He opened the door and went outside. His boots clunked across the wood. He descended the steps and exited the yellow sphere cast by the bug bulb. He turned toward the shed at the rear of the property where the yard tools were kept. Then the night swallowed him.

“Close the door, honey,” her mother said.

Maddie squinted into the darkness. A few seconds passed. Sweat ran down her back and soaked her hoodie. Her heartbeat
accelerated, pulsing fear through her veins with each quickening pump.

Something rustled.

She darted out the door.

“Maddie, get back inside,” her mother called, but Maddie couldn’t stop. She couldn’t let anything happen to her dad.

He crouched beneath a tree. Under the hood of his jacket, a cold wind blew across his exposed face. Drizzle peppered his cheeks, but he barely felt the chill. The excitement churning in his belly was more than enough to keep him warm.

In the tree’s shadow, he watched the rear of the building. He loved the dark, reveled in the possibilities it created, the metaphorical doors it opened for him.

Certain acts couldn’t be contemplated in the light of day.

Tonight was the culmination of all his experience in hunting prey. In planning. In paying attention to the smallest details.