The First Victim (13 page)

While he talked to his sister, Bailey watched Emily check out Shauna’s room, examining the photographs like an archeologist.

As though she could feel his eyes on her, she turned toward him, offering an apologetic smile for her nosiness. She had nothing to be sorry for. He was grateful she was here, that he wasn’t alone.

“Thanks for keeping me company, Em.”

She shrugged uncomfortably.

“If you want to go visit your father…” He’d heard through the grapevine that Emily hadn’t so much as set foot in Donald Wright’s hospital room. Apparently this bothered Laurie Wright to no end.

“I’m where I want to be,” Emily said quietly.

“Okay.” He was pretty sure that, with the exception of a quick visit for her mom’s funeral, Emily hadn’t been back to Lakeside Acres since they’d graduated from high school.

The memory of Val Wright’s death had him tightening his grip on Shauna’s flaccid hand. He’d gone to the funeral, not to pay his respects to the family, but because Ginny Castle had mentioned Emily might be there. He’d felt like a nervous teenager when he’d spotted her standing alone on the back steps of the funeral home after the service was over.

He’d thought maybe she’d forgotten all about him, that perhaps it wasn’t his place to intrude on her grief. After all the years that had passed, he was really not much more than a stranger to her. Those doubts evaporated when she’d offered him a tremulous, tearful smile of recognition.

He murmured condolences and tried to wipe away her tears. Her kiss shocked him, so unexpected that he couldn’t move, didn’t breathe.

And then she was gone, disappearing into the funeral home, intentionally getting lost in the throngs of mourners milling around. Then she’d disappeared from his life. Again. He’d thought it would be forever.

“You visit her regularly?” Emily asked gently, pulling him back into the present.

Bailey lost the rhythm of stroking his Shauna’s hair with the brush. “Once a week…not as much as I should. Sometimes life gets in the way. And then there are those days that I’m just too lazy to drive over.”

“It’s been a long time, Bay. You’re a good brother.”

Her assurance did little to assuage the guilt that constantly gnawed at him that he wasn’t doing enough for his sister. Maybe if he’d been home the day his sister fell down the stairs, sustaining the head injury that had resulted in what the doctors call “a persistent vegetative state,” he could have helped her. But he hadn’t been there. He’d been out at football practice, not because he loved the game, but because he’d been so desperate to earn his father’s love.

“I should have been a better friend when the accident happened,” Emily said quietly, revealing that he wasn’t the only one with regrets.

He shook his head. “We were teenagers starting high school, Em. It was only natural that we’d grow apart. I was spending every spare moment of the day on the football field and you had your own set of friends. You have nothing to be sorry for, Em.”

They rode back to the funeral home in silence, each lost in their own thoughts.

As they pulled back into the parking lot, Emily asked, “Want me to go in with you?”

“I think I can handle the funeral director on my own.” There wasn’t even a hint of amusement in his tone, as he maneuvered the truck into a parking spot.

He’d reverted back to tough-guy mode. She wondered where that came from. Maybe his dad had made him watch too many Gary Cooper movies when he was a kid.

When she’d reached for the door handle to let herself out, he surprised her by leaning over and stilling her hand. Suddenly the oversized vehicle didn’t feel all that big as he filled the limited space. Close enough to catch the scent of his enticing aftershave, Emily couldn’t help but notice how tired he looked. No trace of the high-school quarterback was evident today. She had to stop herself from reaching out and trying to brush away the shadows under his eyes. She’d made a big enough fool of herself the night before with an imprudent act of affection.

“About last night…”

Damn him for being able to read her thoughts with such disquieting accuracy.

“I owe you an explanation for—”

“I made a mistake.” She cut him off with what she hoped passed as a cheeky grin.

She knew from the darkening of his eyes that her smile had been a little too bright. Bailey O’Neil had known her too long to be fooled. He reached out and pried her right hand off the door handle, cradling it in his own. Her heartbeat picked up its pace.

Emily looked down at her fingers curled in his palm. She was holding hands with Bailey O’Neil. It was something they’d done a lot of as little kids, running across a field or jumping into the lake together. It was something she’d dreamed of doing as a teenager when he wouldn’t even look at her, let alone touch. Now it was something that felt right. In that moment she felt sheltered, safe.

She looked up from their entwined hands into Bailey’s eyes, her breath catching in her throat as she saw the concern in his gaze. He was worried about her.

Inexplicably, that pissed her off. She didn’t need his pity. A spurt of anger fueling her, she tried to yank her hand away. “I’m not the victim here, Bailey.”

She tugged, trying unsuccessfully to reclaim her hand. He held on tight. She stared out the windshield, refusing to make eye contact.

“You’re the bravest girl I ever knew, and now you’re the strongest woman I know.”

“You don’t know me anymore.”

He cupped her chin in his fingers and gently turned her head until she was facing him. “I’d like to get to know you again.” He leaned closer, his lips hovering inches from hers, offering an invitation without taking any liberties. The decision would be all hers.

She hesitated for the briefest of moments as her self-preservation instincts warred with her heart’s desire. Her heart won out.

She closed the gap separating them. Their lips brushed. She groaned as an electric pleasure-pain coursed to life between them. She pushed closer, wanting more.

His hand slipped from her hair to her ear, tracing the lobe lightly. The sensation rippled through her entire body. His eyes captured hers, searching their depths for permission as he stroked her ear, setting the nerve-endings on fire, and igniting a spark in the pit of her stomach. He slid his hand lower, coming to rest on her hammering pulse below her jaw line. “You okay?”

She licked her lips and tried to answer, but no sound came out. She nodded dumbly, entranced by the desire she saw in his gaze. It had been a long time since she’d felt an answering longing, but she felt it now. It was consuming her.

He traced her jawbone and hooked his thumb under her chin. “You’re not going to scream or hit me if I kiss you, are you?”

She shook her head.

“Good.” His smile crinkled his eyes. He leaned forward, closing the distance between them.

Her eyes drifted closed in anticipation. He cupped her face with both hands, tilted her head and brushed his warm lips against hers. He was gentle, careful, treating her as though he thought she might break. He released her and sat back.

She raised her hand to her lips that still vibrated from their contact with his mouth. She appreciated his thoughtfulness, his gentle manner, but she wanted more. She leaned across the car and kissed him. Not a chaste brush of lips, but a real kiss. Caught off guard, he opened his mouth to protest, allowing her tongue access to his mouth. He tasted like sex and sin.

“Em,” he moaned, before deepening the kiss.

Rap! Rap! Rap!

They sprang apart like kids who had just gotten caught at Make Out Point, as someone knocked on her window. Cheeks burning, Emily ducked her head, unwilling to turn to look at whoever had chosen the most inopportune moment imaginable to interrupt them.

“Williams,” Bailey groaned through gritted teeth.

The dispatcher, who’d no doubt gotten an eyeful, had moved a respectful distance away, turning so that his back faced them.

“Remind me to fire his nosy, interfering ass. I’ll take care of this, and I’ll be right back.” Slipping out of the car he added, “Don’t go anywhere.”

She watched as Williams raised his hands defensively. He spoke for only a moment before Bailey began yelling at the dispatcher. The younger man had a sullen expression and an aggressive stance. She expected him to yell back, but instead he just nodded and walked away, his gait stiff, as though he was fighting for self-control. Emily felt a twinge of sympathy for him. She wouldn’t have wanted to face his boss’s wrath.

Bailey returned to the pickup. This time standing beside Emily’s door.

Her hand trembling, either as a result of the power of their too-brief kiss, or the scare Williams had given, she swung it open.

“Sorry ’bout that.” Bailey tossed one more aggravated look in the general direction of Williams. “I’ve got to go. Do you think…would you mind if I stopped by your place after work tonight?”

“Sure.”

“Okay, I’ll call before I head over.” He leaned in, pressing a chaste kiss to her cheek. Then without another word, he spun on his heel, hurrying toward the funeral home. Emily watched him go. What the hell was she getting herself into? Pursuing a relationship with Bailey was a bad idea. She had her life to get back to. He had a life here.

She almost called out to cancel their plans, but she couldn’t, not with her body still humming from that kiss. She’d spent too many years wondering what could have been between them. She wasn’t willing to blow off this one opportunity to find out. Instead she waited, not getting out of the truck and into the SUV until he’d disappeared inside.

Her body still burning and her mind racing, she drove back to the house on autopilot. A small shrine of melted candles and bouquets of flowers now marked the spot where she’d found Jackie Willet’s body. Like a bucket of cold water, the mournful reminder cooled her runaway desire.

Parking the SUV in front of the fountain, Emily went out to the road to have a closer look at the makeshift shrine.

A framed photograph had been placed at the center. Jackie Willet, an impish twinkle in her eyes, grinned out at anyone who came to pay their respects. Her friends had scrawled messages like We Miss You and You’ll Never Be Forgotten on poster boards. Weighted down by candles, they rustled with the breeze.

A lump rose in Emily’s throat as she surveyed the scene. It was such a waste. This young girl’s life stolen, the lives of her family and friends forever altered.

“Emily?”

Startled, she spun around. It took her a second to focus on who stood a few yards away.

Sam Castle, shoulders slumped and frown lines etched at the corners of his mouth, looked past her to the temporary memorial.

“Hi.” He held out a small wicker basket covered with plastic wrap. “I brought you something.”

She eyed it suspiciously.

“Pistachio muffins. Mark said they were always your favorite. I was going to give them to you at the funeral, but you left so quickly… Is Bailey okay?”

“He’s fine. He just needed to get away.”

“Completely understandable. Couldn’t believe his grandmother’s antics. I mean I’d heard she was a crazy, old, witch, but never had much reason to deal with her myself.”

“Bailey’s okay now. More embarrassed than anything I think.”

“No reason for him to be. Everyone understood he had no control over her. In fact, I’d be willing to bet that his stock went up in everyone’s minds for exercising so much restraint.”

She smiled. “I’ll be sure to tell him that.” She tried to weigh the sincerity of Sam’s reason for being there. Mark did know they were her favorite. “I’m sorry I jumped like that, Sam. I guess I’m on edge.”

“The whole town’s on edge. I should have called first to tell you I was coming over.”

Crossing the space that separated them, she reached out and took the basket from him. “They are my favorite. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. My brother asked me to remind you that if you need anything, to just let him know.”

“I will.”

His eyes looked behind her. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to take a few pictures of that.”

“Um…okay.” She stepped out of his way. In her mind he’d now moved into officially morbid territory.

He pulled a slim digital camera out of his jeans pocket. Moving closer to the shrine, he began taking pictures.

Emily’s stomach grumbled as she stood watching him. She glanced down at the pastries. On the surface it appeared that Sam had done something kind by bringing them, but now that he was commemorating the dead girl’s shrine, Emily wasn’t so sure.

She instantly felt guilty for her thoughts when he said quietly, “When my fiancée and her daughter died I couldn’t bring myself to go back to the place. Friends told me that a touching tribute had been erected in their honor, but I never got to see it. Maybe someday, this girl’s family would like to have the evidence of how much their daughter was loved, and how much she’ll be missed.”

“That’s very sweet, Sam.” Emily realized the loss of his fiancée was probably the reason he’d been so sad when he’d first returned to Lakeside Acres fifteen years earlier. If it was, she felt terrible for calling him Sad Sam.

A dark sedan pulled to a stop just before where Sam was crouched taking pictures. Special Agent Sebastian Black jumped out from behind the steering wheel. Emily’s gut tightened in anticipation of another unpleasant exchange. Chase Morgan got out the passenger’s side much more slowly.

“Ms. Wright.” Unlike the night before, Black’s tone was polite, bordering on almost friendly.

She offered him what she hoped passed for a pleasant smile. She didn’t have the energy to go another round with him. “Agent Black.”

He skirted around the shrine, studying it.

His partner limped up to her, extending his hand. “Sorry to bother you again, Ms. Wright.”

Balancing the basket against her hip, she shook his hand. “No bother. What can I do for you?”

“We wanted to take a look around during daylight.”

She nodded, wondering what they expected to find that Bailey and his men had missed the day before. “Looking for something specific?”

“Not at all.” Black’s response was a little too quick and a bit too sharp to be the truth. He eyed the man engrossed in framing his photographs. “What brings you here, Mr. Castle?”

Emily, not liking his tone, replied before Sam had a chance. “He brought me muffins.”

Black’s eyes slid to the basket she held, then back to the shrine.

“Any chance we could share them by the lake?” Morgan asked. “I’m a country boy at heart and miss eating by the water.”

Emily swallowed hard. She didn’t think for a moment that Agent Morgan was there for a snack. No doubt he wanted to talk to her about the case. Knowing she couldn’t avoid his questions, she hoped at least to steer clear of the walkway down to the lake. “The path is kind of steep.”

“I know I look old and frail, Ms. Wright—”

“Emily,” she interrupted.

“Emily. But I promise not to collapse.”

Grudgingly she agreed, “Okay.” Turning to Sam, she murmured, “Thanks again. This was awfully sweet of you. Maybe before I go back to the city you’ll give me the recipe?”

Straightening up from his picture taking, Sam smiled. “I’ll even give you a personal baking lesson if you’d like.” Nodding at both men he said, “I’m sure I’ll see you back at The Garden Gate.” Sticking the camera back in his pocket, he ambled away.

“When you’re through here, we’ll be down by the lake,” Morgan told his partner who had snapped on a pair of latex gloves and bent to pick up one of the poster boards with messages from Jackie’s friends.

Black glanced over. “Yes, Chase, I did hear that. Your old, frail self is taking the steep path. As a highly trained agent, I’m thinking I’ll probably be able to find you, but if you want to leave me a trail of bread crumbs…”

“Oh shut up,” Morgan muttered.

Emily smiled. The banter between the two men softened Black, made him seem warmer. He and his partner were obviously close.

Leading the way to the path to the lake, she said, “Bailey mentioned an autopsy was done on Jackie Willet this morning. Did you find any clues?”

Morgan grunted noncommittally.

She paused at the edge of the gravel-lined path. Since it was the place where she’d been grabbed, she’d actually made a point to avoid it ever since her abduction.

Even now, just looking at it, her heart rate had increased and her breathing had become shallow. She forced herself to take a deep breath.
Calm, cool and collected. Calm, cool and collected. It’s just a place. Nothing can hurt you here.

Oblivious to her distress, the older FBI agent lurched past her, the gravel crunching beneath his uneven steps.

Despite the welling sense of trepidation rising within her, she followed.

As they moved closer to the lake, the path grew dim. A canopy of branches and leaves blocked out most of the light, casting dappling shadows on the ground. Emily shivered. There’d been a time when she’d made a game of leaping from shadow to shadow. Now she just wanted out.

Reaching the bend in the path where the monster had grabbed her, she sped up. Desperate to be out again in the open air, she sped past the limping agent, chased by the unseen demon from her past. She squeezed the basket, as though by holding on to it, she could keep a hold of her wayward emotions.

Finally she reached the clearing. Tilting her head back to look up at the blue sky, she finally exhaled the breath she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding. Slightly light-headed from the exertion and the fact she’d forgotten to breathe, she swayed unsteadily. “Get a grip, Em,” she muttered. “Everything’s okay. You’re just fine.”

“What a beautiful spot.” Chase Morgan sounded breathless too as he came up behind her.

Keeping her back to him she nodded, not trusting herself to speak to him yet. She walked over to the picnic table by the water’s edge. Like every other furnishing at the Wright house, it too was a replacement. When Emily had been growing up, a wooden picnic table, the kind that gave you splinters if you weren’t careful when you sat down, the kind that she and Ginny had carved their initials into when they were twelve, had occupied this very spot. Now the table was some sort of plastic, made to look like wood. No doubt it would withstand the ravages of the weather better, but it didn’t feel like a real picnic table.

“I miss the old wooden kind,” Chase said, carefully lowering himself onto one of the benches. “Are you going to share those?”

Emily turned to face him. She’d been staring out at the lake, looking in the direction of the house Bailey had grown up in. His sharp-tongued grandmother still lived there. She handed Agent Morgan the basket, and smiled as he eagerly ripped off the plastic covering. “They’re pistachio. Kind of an acquired taste.”

“I’m not picky, I’m starving.” Still he had the good manners to offer her one before he dove into the basket himself.

Feeling queasy, she refused with a shake of her head.

“You blew past me back there on the path, looking like the devil himself was on your tail.”

“Maybe he was,” Emily murmured quietly. Shaking her head to rid herself of the bleakness that threatened to engulf her, she asked, “Why are you really here?”

“I told you, we wanted to see the scene during the day.”

“Okay, I’ll buy that from your partner, but not you. What are you here looking for?”

Having the grace to look ashamed, he cleared his throat.

“Do you—”

He never finished his question because Special Agent Sebastian Black came running down the trail. “Chase! Chase!”

Emily sensed by the squinty lines that formed around the older man’s eyes, that he wasn’t expecting his partner to be delivering good news. Her own stomach flip-flopped in nervous anticipation.

“Excuse me for just a second.” Morgan slowly got to his feet.

Sebastian stopped at the edge of the clearing, obviously wanting to be out of earshot of her. He passed the piece of poster board he was carrying from one hand to the other impatiently, as he waited for his partner to join him.

Emily was tempted to watch them, maybe she’d be able to read their lips and figure out what was going on. Instead, she turned her attention back to the lake. She hadn’t seen this view of it for a very long time. It hadn’t changed all that much. Some of the docks jutting out into the water were new, and it looked like a second story had been added to the Leeds’ place, but besides that it looked the same as she remembered. The ugly, rusted sculpture of a pelican was still standing in the Wetmores’ yard. She’d have thought that old thing would have crumbled to dust by now.

A lone rowboat was drifting across the lake’s surface. From this distance it appeared to be unoccupied, but she guessed that its occupant had curled up in the bottom of the boat to catch some sun. It was something she’d done often enough herself as a kid.

The gentle sloshing of the lake against the shore almost drowned out the hushed conversation of the two FBI agents.

She closed her eyes and listened, not to the men, but to the happy tweeting of the birds, as she remembered how much she used to love this spot. The beauty. The quiet. The peace. She was surprised at how much she still did. It was only the path she disliked, not this place.

Hearing footsteps approaching she opened her eyes, and swiveled in her seat to look at Morgan and Black. Knowing that they had more bad news, and wanting to delay its delivery, she held up the basket to the younger agent. “Sure you don’t want one?”

“They’re green!” He made them sound as though they were glowing nuclear waste.

“They’re pistachio,” Emily said.

“They’re good,” Chase chimed in.

“The only green foods I eat are vegetables,” the younger agent insisted.

“You don’t know what you’re missing.” Morgan sat down opposite Emily. “Agent Black found something.”

“What he was looking for?”

He shook his head. “No, but something significant.”

Black held up the poster board. To her it looked like all of the others. Messages from Jackie Willet’s friends, scrawled in permanent marker, adorned with hearts and frownie faces. “It’s a message.”

“I can see that.”

“No, it’s a message to you.” Slowly he turned the oversized piece of paper over.

Emily’s breath caught in her throat as she read the bold typeface. “WELCOME HOME EMILY!” The words had been printed from a computer and pasted on the sign. She stared at it, unable to breathe, unable to think. Clasping her hands together, she rubbed the scar on her palm with her thumb.

Chase reached across the table, and placed his hand over hers in what was supposed to be a comforting gesture. Emily jerked away from his touch so violently that she almost fell backward off the bench.

“Sorry,” he murmured gently. “I know this is upsetting—”

“You don’t know the half of it.” Emily leaped to her feet, needing to put some space between herself and the men with eyes full of questions, needing to get away from that horrible note. She didn’t want to go to the path, so she instead marched to the edge of the dock. Her legs felt rubbery, but she wasn’t sure if it was because of the swaying of the dock as it was buffeted by the currents of the lake, or if she was going into shock.

Forcing herself to take slow, calming breaths, she did her best to tamp down the fear that had risen inside her. It was choking her with a viselike grip at the base of her throat, making it hard to swallow.

“Get a grip, Em. Get a grip.” Who was doing this to her? What did they want? How was this all connected to Jackie Willet’s death? So many questions, they made her head spin. She didn’t have any answers. She needed help. She wished Bailey was here. He’d know what to do.

Slowly she turned to face the two FBI agents. Maybe they could help her to figure this out. They had to or another teenage girl might die. Soon.