Silence: The Faces of Evil Christmas Prequel (6 page)

“You look exactly the same, Jess.”

Was he even listening? She wanted to rant at him.

“I can’t stop staring at you,” he said, his voice filled with awe.

She warned herself not to risk meeting his gaze after a statement like that but she’d never been very good at following orders, not even her own. “I hope that’s a compliment.”

“That’s definitely a compliment.” He frowned. “What’s this?” He reached out with his right hand, pushed her hair back and traced the bruise at her throat.

“It’s nothing.” She drew away from his touch. Sipped the wine. Sweet and sparkly, the kind she liked. She’d hated wine when he’d first introduced her to it. Beer had been the illicit beverage of choice among the teenagers on her side of the tracks. He’d taken her to the best restaurants and bought her expensive gifts... and she’d fallen head over heels in love with him.

“It doesn’t look like nothing,” he countered.

The edge in his voice warned that he had the wrong idea. “Just a work thing. That’s all.”

He nodded but he looked far from convinced. She looked away. Staring at him had gotten her into trouble more than once... like when she’d lost her virginity.

Time to get this conversation back into less treacherous territory.

“You’re the one who hasn’t changed a bit other than you apparently lost your razor.” Judging by the dark stubble on his jaw he hadn’t shaved in at least a couple of days. His hair was a little longer. Daniel Burnett had always been the clean cut all-American guy. What was up with the new look? “The mayor doesn’t mind that you’re working so hard to resurrect that eighties unshaven look?”

“This,” he laughed and scrubbed at his unshaven chin, “is my mother’s doing.”

Jess’s self-confidence level dropped another couple of notches. Why had she asked? Katherine Burnett had never liked Jess. She doubted her opinion had changed. Since Dan was an only child, Katherine’s entire existence revolved around trying to mold his life and to ensure it turned out the way
she
wanted it. Part of Jess would always believe his mother was to some degree responsible for their break up.

Ancient history.

“She staging a Christmas production for her church. I was volunteered to play Joseph. Tomorrow night’s the big show.”

See, Jess, his life was everything his mother had planned without you
. What was she doing here?

“You know,” she shoved the glass back at him, “I really should go. Lily is—”

“Please,” he urged, shutting down her excuse. He stared at her lips for long enough to have her heart racing before finally lifting his gaze to hers. “I want to hear all about you and that promotion. It could be years before I see you again.”

Suddenly the trouble she’d gotten herself into yesterday seemed like a walk in the park.

The only thing she’d risked then was her life.

Tonight she was risking her heart...

He had to think of a way to persuade her to stay.

What he was asking was too much, he realized that, but he couldn’t help himself. He wanted to know all about her life now. His own had been so upside down the past few months he’d hardly had time to think about anything but work and the divorce.

Memories crashed against him. The gun aimed at his head... the hurt of knowing he had failed.

Not going there
.

Jess was here. He couldn’t believe his eyes. She was here... with him if only for a little while. He wasn’t foolish enough to believe they would ever have a second chance at a life together—hers was in Virginia and he didn’t see that changing—but maybe they could be friends. They’d shared too much to pretend there wasn’t still some connection between them.

“Okay.” She squared her shoulders and gave him a firm look. “But just this one glass of wine and then I really have to go.”

The gut-wrenching tension receded. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt that much relief. Maybe when his ex had missed putting a bullet in his head with his own weapon.

“Then let’s make it count.” He tapped his glass to hers. “To a Christmas to remember.”

This was the best one he’d had in a very long time.

8

One day earlier...

Ruckersville

Pain
.

Jess told her eyes to open. Her throat ached. She tried to reach up and touch it but couldn’t. Her arms were too heavy. There was something she needed to remember but her head felt swollen and too much like cotton. Her mouth tasted salty.

A low moan echoed around her.

Had she made that sound? Where was she?

She was supposed to...

Her eyes opened and terror detonated in her veins.

Zip Code Killer...Pritchard farm.

Dead man...wheelchair
.

She tried to speak, but her mouth was stuffed with some kind of cloth. She tried to move. Couldn’t. Her hands were tied behind her back. Her legs were secured at the ankles. Her body ached.

It was so cold.

Assess your surroundings
.

Slowly, she quieted her breathing and let the thumping in her chest ease. The floor was cold and grimy. Not dirt or wood. It felt like concrete or maybe stone. She lay on her belly, her legs twisted to the right and her left cheek pressed against the chilly, unyielding surface. The room was dimly lit. Not the natural kind from the sun. Fluorescent lights, she decided, but not close. Across the room.

There was that sound again. Small, weak... a moan.

Rocking her body she managed to get onto her right side and raise her head. She’d expected to see stalls or farm equipment. But this didn’t seem to be the barn behind the house. Not like any barn she’d ever been inside.

Basement? Maybe. The ceilings were lower than normal, six or seven feet. The walls were lined with shelves cluttered with canning jars and boxes.

Don’t just lay there
.
Get up
.
Find a way to get loose
.

Her mind worked a little slow, felt a little groggy. She’d been drugged, no doubt. At least she was awake. Definitely a good sign. Judging by the condition of the man in the wheelchair if whoever had attacked her wanted her dead, she would be dead.

Jess curled her knees toward her waist and rocked up onto her butt. The room did some spinning. Her stomach churned and bile roiled up into her throat. She tried to swallow it back. Puking would be a bad thing under the circumstances.

Whoever had wrapped that rope around her neck and choked her until she lost consciousness must have used a fast acting drug to keep her that way. She wouldn’t have been out for so long otherwise. As sore and cold as she felt, this floor had been her bed for a couple hours anyway.

The salty taste in her mouth suggested GHB, a too frequently used date-rape drug. Worked quickly and, depending on the dose, kept the vic down for a good stretch.

Son of a bitch. Anger helped to clear her head. How the hell had her attacker sneaked up on her so easily? Had two months away from field work made her that rusty?

Let it go. Get your bearings
.

All she could see from her position were the stocked shelves, a mountain of plastic containers and that fluorescent light fixture with its one working bulb. No windows and just one door.

Get up! Get out of here!

She braced for hitting the concrete face first as she attempted to shift onto her knees. With her head still reeling it wasn’t an easy feat but she managed. She listened for running footsteps or shouting. With all the grunting she’d done anyone nearby would have heard her.

So far, so good
.

If she could just get this rag out of her mouth. She shuddered, fought the gag reflex. That quiet moaning started again. Jess stilled, the reality finally penetrating the fog in her brain.

Someone else was here with her
.

She rested on her knees and focused on recapturing her balance. When she felt steady enough, she started to scoot. As she slowly made her way across the room, she twisted her wrists and pulled at the bindings there. By the time she reached the nearest wall, her stomach was lurching again. She rested her shoulder against a shelf and gave herself a second before attempting to get to her feet.

With only one false start she was standing. She waited for the ground to stop tilting. A frown furrowed her forehead as she stared at her feet. Where were her boots? One of her socks was missing too.

So that was the rag in her mouth. At least it was her sock and not someone else’s.

Another survey of the room drew her attention to the ceiling. Floor joists and those crisscross braces verified her initial assessment: basement.

When she felt confident enough, she started to hop. Three or four falls onto her knees had tears burning her eyes. She ignored the pain. Had to loosen these bindings enough to free her hands. While she was at it, she needed to find where the moaning was coming from.

Beyond the stack of plastic containers were two massive wooden posts in the middle of the room. There was a door to the left and a steep set of stairs to the right. She opted for the stairs. It was slow going but only one fall before she reached the first of the two posts that stood between her and that potential escape route.

She leaned against the post for a second. A couple of big rusty nails protruding at just about chin level gave her an idea. Not allowing herself time to think twice, she opened her mouth wide and lowered it over one of the nails, just far enough to try snagging the sock. The first effort failed, scratching the inside of her cheek. She grunted a muffled curse.

She’d have to update her Tetanus vaccination once she was back home. Refusing to give up, she went for another attempt. A few flakes of rust later and the sock snagged on the nail. Rearing her head back, the cotton and nylon blend sock was pulled from her mouth. A coughing, spitting fit followed.

“Yuck.” She shuddered.

God, what she wouldn’t give for a big tall glass of water about now. Better yet, her Glock and her cell phone. Fat lot of good the cell phone would do her. Service sucked out here. What she really wanted was her hands free and to find her weapon—or any weapon.

With no handy sharp objects on which to attempt cutting her bindings, she tugged harder and twisted her hands to get some slack in the ropes. The binding felt like the same cotton type rope around her ankles. Lucky for her, cotton stretched.

The moaning started again. Jess stilled. The sound came from the direction of the door on the other side of the room. Despite never having had ballet or yoga classes, she managed to hop that way while simultaneously twisting her hands.

She turned her back to the door and grabbed hold of the knob. She gave it a turn and shuffled forward, awkwardly pulling the door open. When she executed an about face the smell hit her, made her gag hard.

That moan came again, louder this time.

The possibility that one or more of those missing women could still be alive had her heart pounding even harder.

The room was dark except for the meager glow that followed Jess from the other room. She squeezed her eyes shut and then blinked rapidly to focus. The stench of decomposition was irrefutable. Someone was here and alive... but there was death down here too. Her stomach did some major protesting. She feared this would be the kind of scene no agent looked forward to discovering.

Jess hopped forward, lost her balance and hit the floor again. Her knees throbbed. She struggled upward and started moving again. She kept at the bindings around her wrists, stretching and twisting. Something dragged across her face. Felt like a spider web. She jerked back, almost fell again. She peered at what she decided was a string. The string led up to a light fixture.

Using her teeth, she got a hold on the string and pulled. Light filled the space, making her squint against the brightness.

Another moan, louder, more frantic. Other side of the room. Jess twisted in that direction. Her breath fled her lungs. She stilled as her brain assimilated what her eyes saw.

Cages... four—no, five of them.

Bare skin... arms and legs. Long dark hair... blonde hair.
Blood
.

“Oh my God.”

“Help us.”

The dark-haired woman raised her head. Sunken, red-rimmed eyes stared out at Jess.

Adrenaline seared through her. She jerked at her bindings, somehow squeezed her hands free, then reached down and loosened the ropes around her ankles. Fighting back the nearly overwhelming urge to heave, she rushed to the cages.

“Marie Duncan?” Jess dropped to her knees, winced, and inspected the padlock on the cage door.

The dark-haired woman nodded. “Please,” she pleaded, “you have to help my sister.”

Jess gave her the most reassuring smile she could muster. “That’s why I’m here. To help you.”

She needed a key. Dammit! She needed to call for help. Moving quickly, she checked the next two cages, careful of the body fluids that had spread across the floor. Shawna Johnston. Deceased. Her state of decomposition suggested she’d been dead several weeks.

Larissa Stone, deceased as well. Looked as if she had been dead for nearly as long as Johnston.

The fourth and fifth cages were empty.

Jess moved back to the first cage. “Marie?” She waited until the woman was looking at her. “I’m going to find the key so I can get you out of there. Okay?”

Marie shook her head. She stared down at the woman in her arms. “You have to help my sister first.”

Jess’s heart fell. The sister was dead. How did she get the poor woman to understand? She thought of Lily. If she and Lil were in those cages and—

A scream filled the air.

Jess whipped around. The gun registered first... then Delia Potter’s face rushing toward her.

9

Christmas Eve

Birmingham, 8:40 p.m.

The second glass of wine on top of the beer she’d had at the pub was a bad idea.

Exhaustion. Dehydration. No dinner. Jess was already down three strikes before she started and still she hadn’t said no. That was the problem, when it came to Dan she’d never been able to say no.