Hard Silence (13 page)

“You didn’t. Ask.”

“I didn’t know to ask. But we’ll play this your way. What’s your plan?” She reached for Toby, and the dog put his head on her knee with a sigh. “He wants to live with me, Jeff. I want him to live with me.”

“He wants to live with me too, but that doesn’t mean I’m the right choice.” He tossed the file on the desk. “Abby, he’s not a stray animal you can rehab. He’s a very active little boy. Have you thought about what having him with you all the time will do to you?”

“His grandparents can’t take him, and the state is going to move him because there’s another child who needs Mrs. Perry’s attention more than him.”

“But why you?”

“If Andy doesn’t go to prison, the state won’t fight him for custody. Evan will have to go back to that monster.”

A pit opened in Jeff’s stomach. He’d love to spout the law-and-order line all agents started out believing—that right would always win—but he knew better. There was a recently paroled felon in Tennessee who proved that point. “Let’s share him.”

“That’s worse than calling him a stray dog.”

“No it isn’t. He’d get what he wanted,” Jeff reasoned. “Both of us. He’d live with you. You’d be the responsible one, and I’m the...uncle next door.”

“That would make us brother and sister,” she teased.

“Yeah, that won’t work.” He leaned close enough that her hair tickled his nose. “Because that lipstick is inspiring some definite non-brotherly thoughts.”

She blushed again, and his cock thumped against his zipper. “Why do you want him?”

“I want him to be happy and make it to fourth grade.”

The grade her friend Connie had never seen. “Abby—”

“I know I can’t keep him, that he’ll be adopted by a family with two parents. But if he can stay at Mrs. Perry’s, then he can stay with me.” She stared at him, her gaze earnest. “Can’t he?”

God help him, he nodded. “I’ll be your backup. We’ll figure it out as we go. Agreed?”

The kiss on his cheek was so light he thought he’d imagined it—until her breath warmed his skin. “Thank you.”

The door opened, and she jumped away from him like he’d burned her. He was too stunned to move at all.

Gray handed over a cup of coffee, and began shaking in silent laughter as he brushed his cheek. Jeff shifted in his chair, gaining control over his body as he searched for his handkerchief and then wiped his face. The telltale lipstick smudge stained the white cotton. Abby looked like she wanted to sink through the floor.

“We’ve reached an agreement.” Jeff struggled to keep his voice level. “If Abby’s application is approved, I’ll be there to help.”

“
If
I need it,” she reminded him.

He stared at her.
“Regardless. I’ll see Evan as my schedule permits. And we’ll be honest about the arrangement. No getting his hopes up about either of us keeping him. He was old enough to understand the situation at Mrs. Perry’s. This is just another foster home.”

She nodded. “Agreed.”

Celia looked between them and smiled. “Thank you both. I’ll call the court and set a hearing date, and call Gray with the details.”

After the meeting, Jeff walked Abby to her car and opened her door. Toby leapt in while she pressed a piece of paper into Jeff’s palm. “Phone number.”

He pulled out his phone, added her information, and then texted her his number. “There we go. Official and everything,” he said as he closed the door.

He watched them drive away before striding to his convertible. Gray was lounged against it, shaking his head, his smile wide.

“I never thought I’d be around when this happened to you.”

“Just because you’re happily married doesn’t mean the whole world wants to be. All we’re doing is sharing a little boy.”

“And lipstick,” Gray quipped as he walked away.

“Screw you,” Jeff grumbled as he started the car. Ever since Gray had eloped to Vegas, he—

Damn.

Hitting Bob’s number, Jeff listened to the phone ring as he navigated the busiest street in Fiddler and then around the square.

Bob answered the phone, laughing. “Harper just spent five minutes trying to convince me you’re, like, a foster dad.”

“I am,” Jeff muttered. “His name is Evan, he’s eight, and his dad’s in jail for killing his mother. And I think the proper term is co-parenting. Abby Quinn is his foster mother.”

“Abby? The brunette who doesn’t talk?”

“Yep. She’s my neighbor.”

“Fuck,” Bob sighed. “They got you, too.”

“They did not,” Jeff griped. “Listen. My files are missing marriage certificates. Can’t anyone find them?”

“No. All anyone knows is the guys came home married.”

Because they’d married in different states. Just like Gray and Maggie had married in Vegas and filed the certificate in Nevada before they’d left. “I’m going to send you a list of cities,” Jeff barked as he turned on the road toward home. “Have Amanda start there.” He hung up.

Passing Abby’s driveway, he went up the hill. Cass was fidgeting in the doorway as he bolted up the steps. “What?”

“It’s a woman,” she blurted as she pushed open the screen door and got out of his way.

“Slow down.” He put up his hand. “What makes you think that?”

She was already halfway down the hall. “Come see.”

In the room, she stood in front of his board and pointed at each site. “With the exception of Archer, they’re all near campgrounds. Someone would have noticed Guido and Sonny marching a nervous dude into the park. They would have stood out. But no one mentioned anything.”

Jeff nodded. That information dovetailed into what he’d just realized. “They went in as a family. No one would notice a family setting up camp for the weekend.”

Cass nodded as she darted to his Archer file and flipped it open. She displayed the oldest tip. It was on notebook paper, and the date was neatly written in the corner. The brief message was written in blue ballpoint ink, and the letters were neat, rounded and evenly spaced. It was a young woman’s handwriting. Jeff looked at his board of victims, at the skinned knees bracketing Beau Archer’s photo from the file. A daughter.

Betty Archer and her daughter. Who’d vanished without a trace.

“Now what?” Cass asked, her bright eyes shining.

“Now you go upstairs and read something light and fluffy, or get on Twitter and gossip. Mom would kill me if she knew I had you profiling murderers.” Jeff shoved her out the door. “Get away from this room while I think.”

Once it was quiet, Jeff closed his eyes and sat in his chair, stuffing each item from his day into its own box until only the case remained. The common traits of serial killers were, for him, as easy to recite as the alphabet, even if female killers weren’t common. And he had a pretty good hunch he was looking for mother and daughter, and that the daughter was the one with the conscience. And, if he held with his earlier theory, she’d graduated to killing on her own.

Underachiever? Possibly. They’d have to be transient and easy to ignore. Most jobs fitting that bill didn’t require anything but a pretty smile.

Unstable families and domineering mothers? Jeff stared at the grisly photos littering his temporary office. That was sort of obvious.

Criminal histories in their families? Again, obvious—at least for the beta daughter. Betty—the alpha mother from hell—would have been a doozy to live with. Once he had marriage certificates, it might be easier to check Betty’s background.

Abused? Betty was probably abusive. How could any person capable of this level of violence exempt their children? Her daughter probably fought for her life every day.

Hate their mothers? The daughter would more than likely despise Betty, the mother who had dragged her across the country and kept her on the fringes of society.

OCD? He looked at the stack of seventeen identical messages. Oh yeah.

While the rest of the traits might not fit as the investigation progressed, this list was enough to start him down an ugly path. Betty had been a monster, whether born that way or made that way was still a question. But she’d
made
a worse monster than herself. Her daughter, the beta, would be deadly.

He flipped through the file, checking dates. Archer had been dead almost thirty years, but the letters hadn’t started until seventeen years ago. He drew a line down the board and labeled it 1999. Something had happened then to trigger her guilt on the earlier victims. Jeff opened an email to Bob and typed the list of cities to search for marriage licenses, urging him to find Beau Archer’s first. He added the fateful lines.

Mother/daughter team. Mother more than likely dead or institutionalized within the last twenty years. Daughter possibly following in her footsteps.

Chapter Twelve

“Can we go fishing when we get home?” Evan asked. “Or maybe for a hike? Or could you show me how to ride the horse?”

Abby reached for Toby, but he shrank away from her toward the door. It had become a troubling pattern this first week. They were both talked almost to tears.

She tightened her grip on the steering wheel. “We have to do chores.”

“What about after?”

“Laundry and dinner,” she reminded him. It was the whole reason they’d come to town for a second grocery run in a week.

How did such a small person eat so much, talk so much and dirty so many clothes? Despite all that, the little boy was a welcome addition to her life. So much so that it was hard to imagine what it had been like without him. Though he’d become the star of her nightmares. Last night Wallis had chased him across the field under a bloodred sky.

Abby looked in the review mirror. “Listen. For a. Second.”

He looked up at her, waiting.

“You and I are out here alone. So if. Something. Bad. Happens, if I tell you to run or if you get scared. You run to Jeff. Okay?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He went back to staring out the window, watching the world slip by. “Will it?”

“Not if I can help it,” she promised. “But Jeff will keep you safe. No matter. What.”

They got home, put his new clothes in the washing machine, and started the chores she’d had to skip this morning to get Evan to the dentist on time.

Milking came first. Poor Jane would be miserable if she had to wait much longer. “I’ll milk. Why don’t you take care of the chickens?”

After milking Jane and putting her in the barn for the night, Abby stared at the chicken coop and the small mountain of feed in the middle of her delighted,
stupid
chickens. “Did you. Feed them?”

“Yeah. I thought they’d want dinner.”

We haven’t fed them dinner all week. Why aren’t you paying attention? Why do I have to explain things so many times? Where’s your head? Listen to me!
The ghosts of harsh words snapped and crackled through her brain.

“They don’t need dinner, Ev. They’re full of bugs.”

“Wouldn’t they rather have corn?”

Apparently they would, because she practically had to kick them out of the way as she scraped the feed into the yard. The mice would think they’d died and gone to heaven. “Did you get the eggs?” There was no sense in feeding the snakes, too.

“I forgot,” Evan said as he ran to the coop.

“Be careful,” she called after him.

Three eggs hit the ground before she could get around the corner. Evan was standing still, his arms full of eggs, and yolk running down his shirt. “There are too many.”

Careless. He’s careless,
her ghosts snarled.
I’ll show him what happens to careless—

“Let me show you.” She straddled the mess, lifted his shirttail, and put the intact eggs inside. “That’s what. Jeff does when he. Gets them.” She leveled a gaze at him. “A basket. Is better.”

“We need to wash them off,” he called over his shoulder as he galloped away.

“Walk,” she croaked as she followed him to the house. He met her at the door, naked from the waist up. “I put them in the sink, and I was really careful. I even put my shirt in the wash.”

“Was the. Washer. Still. Running?” she asked, hoping against hope.

His smile faded, and her heart fell at the thought of his filthy shirt tossed in with already clean clothes. “Don’t worry. We’ll just wash. Ev-everything again. Thank you for changing.” She walked past him and into the house.

“What about the horses?”

“I’ll do it later.”

She trudged into his bathroom and started a bath, making sure to test the water temperature. Earlier in the week, he’d run a bath that was icy cold, and she’d worried that his every sneeze was a symptom of pneumonia. When she’d told him to make the next one warmer, he’d almost singed his hair off.

She turned off the water, careful not to overfill the tub. She was tired of mopping after bath time. Evan was already waiting with his dirty clothes on the floor and a towel around his waist.

She closed the door and then yelled through it, “Use soap.”

She added the rest of his clothes to the washer, restarted it and shuffled to the kitchen, where she stared into the refrigerator. She was too tired to cook. Admitting defeat, she got out the peanut butter and jelly.

Evan came out of the bathroom wearing his new pajamas. The hems on his bright cotton pants legs rolled up, hiding a large portion of the Iron Men flying in various formations. He was in a red T-shirt rather than the matching long-sleeved top. He’d slept in it the first night and woke screaming because he’d become tangled in it and thought his father had caught him under the porch.

He galloped across the floor and climbed into his chair. His smile faded as he looked at the sandwich, but he ate half of it and waited on her to finish so he could help with the dishes.

He dragged his chair to the sink and climbed into it, putting him at eye level. “Do I have to go to school?”

“Yes.”

He was silent for a long time. “What if they tease me?”

“Then you call me or Jeff, and we’ll talk to your teacher.” She looked into his wise, dark eyes. “Someone will always tease you.”

“Did they razz you about not talking?”

“Yes. And it made me sad. But school is too. Important. To let mean people keep you away.”

“Okay,” he sighed as he rinsed a plate. “Will you read to me?”

Careful to school her face into a smile, Abby groaned on the inside. “How about listening to a CD?”

“You can’t talk no more, huh?”

“
Any
more. And I am tired.”

His lips trembled. “Did I talk too much?”

She wrapped him in a hug, and her stomach twisted at the frail bones under the shirt that hung on him even though the saleslady had assured her it was the right size for a boy his age. She felt bad for stealing his warmth, but she did it anyway. “No. How else are you going to learn to do things? We talked about this. Remember?”

“Uh-huh.” He grew solemn in thought and brightened almost immediately. “Can Jeff come read to me?”

No. I don’t want him judging how I’m taking care of you and seeing me frayed around the edges. It’s exactly what he predicted would happen.

Evan was staring at her with hope in his eyes, and she couldn’t disappoint him. She’d have to swallow her pride. “Call and ask him, and remember your manners.”

He leapt from his perch and scrambled for her cell phone. Sitting next to him, she watched him work the buttons the way she’d taught him earlier in the week. She triggered the speakerphone so she could be sure of Evan’s interpretation.

The phone rang...and rang. Maybe Jeff wouldn’t answer. As Evan’s face fell, Abby felt guilty for hoping.

“Hello.” The baritone greeting was flavored with a smile.

“Hi, Jeff. It’s Evan.” Even though they spoke every night, the little boy still started every conversation that way. “Would you like to come visit?”

“Now?”

“Uh-huh. It’s time for bed, and I can’t sleep without a story, but Abby can’t read to me because she’s talked out for the day, so I want you to come do it.”

Abby didn’t know what made her more embarrassed—Evan’s description of their predicament or his bad manners.

“Evan,
ask
him and say
please.
”

“Oh right. Would you please come read me a story?”

“I’m not sure—”

“But I said please.” Evan’s voice shrank.

Abby put a hand on his head. He was so small, so frail, and his hair was baby soft. “Remember what we talked about,” she whispered.

“Abby?”

She deactivated the speaker and picked up the phone. “H-hello?”

“What did you talk about?”

“That please doesn’t always get you a yes.”

“Good lesson.”

Two minutes of listening to his rich voice, and she was suddenly as eager to see him as Evan. “You don’t have to—”

“I don’t have anything to read to him except the DSM Five.”

“He has a book.”

“I’m on my way.”

She took thirty seconds to listen to the silence, then she stood. “He’s coming. Let’s finish the dishes.”

As they rinsed the last plate, Toby and Tug erupted in a duet of barks and yips that all but drowned out the rap on the door.

“Jeff!” Evan squealed and leapt from his stool. The wet plate slipped from his hands and crashed to the floor. He froze where he stood. Abby dropped to her knees in time to see a tear fall from his chin.

“Are you hurt?” When he continued to cry, her panic bubbled. What had she done? What had she said? She surveyed the ruined pottery, vaguely aware of the slap of the screen door and Jeff striding through the kitchen. “What is it?”

“I broke it,” Evan whimpered. “I’m sorry.”

God, she remembered that feeling—never knowing what would set Wallis off. Abby scraped the pottery from between them and tugged him into her lap, wrapping him in a tight hug while she blinked away tears. “Honey, it’s just stuff
.
It’s not important.”

She took the paper towel Jeff shoved over her shoulder and used it to dry Evan’s tears and clean his slimy hand. Then she kissed the top of his head. “Go wash your hands and brush your teeth, please. Then Jeff can tuck you in.”

Evan nodded and stood, and Jeff followed him down the hallway. Finally alone, Abby covered her mouth with a shaking hand. It helped keep Wallis’s ugliness in, but it meant she had to hear it in her head.
Worthless, whiny, unlovable, useless, helpless, good for nothing...

She covered her ears, but her teeth chattered and her throat constricted.

She closed her eyes. Wallis had been wrong. Always. She could do this. She could be the type of mother Evan needed. Even if it was only temporary.

“Abby?” Jeff’s quiet question was timed with his hand on her shoulder. She forced her eyes open to see his cautious smile. “Why don’t you go outside and get some air?”

“Dark. Room,” she choked out before she fled through the door.

Ignoring the horses still in the paddock and even Toby jogging behind her, Abby ran into her darkroom and closed the door.

What had she been thinking, having the little boy living with her? Having anyone here? It was too much of a risk. Wallis would never let her get away with it. Buck would have approved, though. He would like her rescuing Evan just like he’d rescued her. Buck might not even mind she was keeping his death a secret if it helped someone else.

Abby’s tears renewed, her guilt making them hotter. It wasn’t right to leave Buck in a pasture. He deserved a final resting place where he could hunt, fish or ride. Maybe her past Tobys were there, sitting on a covered porch or chasing the wind through the field.

Too bad she’d never see it. Because no matter how many things she accomplished, no matter how many good deeds, or how many beautiful photographs, she’d done too many things—and not done enough.

She blinked at the photos surrounding her. Other peoples’ lives, all of them moving forward. And she couldn’t. Her home belonged to a dead man, her boy belonged to a dead woman, and her past belonged to the skeletons in her closet. Even Jeff was borrowed.

She was staring at someone else’s engagement photos when the room went dark. Her heart climbed into her throat to escape her shrinking lungs. Forcing herself to breathe deeply, she reached for the flashlight she kept on the shelf next to her desk.
You’re fine. This happens all the time. Remember?

The flashlight was gone. Her whimper echoed through the quiet, still room.

Stay in there and think about what you’ve done. This is your fault, you stupid girl
, Wallis had hissed as she’d shoved her into the closet and locked the door. And the days had bled into one another like shadows.

Be quiet. If anyone hears you, I’ll have to hurt them too, and it will be your fault. And if they take me to jail, no one will know where you are. You’ll starve.

Abby slid to the floor as the dark pressed on her skin and the room shrunk around her. Animals scratched and scurried. Rats? She drew her knees tighter to her chest. She hated rats.

Someone else was moving in the barn. Had Wallis returned?

Fighting her panic, Abby sucked in a ragged breath.
Don’t be silly. The horses are in the stable wondering why you’ve not put them up for the night, and the scratching is tree limbs against the stable walls. You have a job to do. Get out of this room.
She inched forward on all fours, banging into stools, tables and cabinets until she reached the far wall. There was a sliver of light at the bottom, acting like a lighthouse in a horrible foggy storm.

Pulling herself up the wall, Abby flailed until her knuckles banged the doorknob. Her relief was short-lived. It wouldn’t open. Fear clawed up her throat, and she beat it back. It was fine. She was home.

Shadows moved from the wall, pointing their fingers at her. Not her home. Not her family. Not her life. Her life was forfeit.

As the shadows closed in, she banged on the door, choking out a scream.

It opened, and the light blinded her as she fell into a pair of strong arms, sobbing in relief.

“Shh, baby,” Jeff crooned. “You’re fine. Please don’t cry.”

“The light went out,” she whimpered as she tightened her hold on his neck. “My flashlight was gone.”

“It’s okay.” He kept repeating it until the tension left her muscles. Realizing she was strangling him, she released him and dropped her arms. He didn’t let her go, giving her little choice but to cuddle into his lap.

“Are you claustrophic or nyctophobic?” he asked, his question rumbling through her and soothing her nerves.

She frowned at the new word. “What’s that?”

“Afraid of the dark.”

She took a deep breath and practiced the word. “Nyctophobic. I like it.” She sniffed as her heart banged against her ribs. “It doesn’t sound so childish.”

“What about
hyperthymesia
? Have you heard that one?”

“Celia and I have talked about it.” She looked up at him. “Don’t diagnose me. It makes me feel weirder than I am.”