Pretty Stolen Dolls (5 page)

He grunts as he stalks off. The moment Chief Stanton assigned us to work together, Dillon has been agitated. We’ve been partners for eight months and he still treats me like I’m a thorn in his side. It might be because of my age, but I’m not sure. I was young to make detective, but I wasn’t undeserving of it. I worked my ass off to get in a position where I could actually do something about the monsters of the world.

Benny.

And maybe I am a thorn in Dillon’s side, and young, but I won’t be treated like I don’t matter. He doesn’t hold authority over me like he seems to believe. I put the hours in; he won’t even work weekends.

I’m Stanton’s dream detective when it comes to solving tricky cases and finding the tiny details everyone else misses. When I’m pouring over the files and evidence, I’m in my element. The clues don’t evade me. I make sense of the madness.
Because I’ve lived within it.

It’s the people I have a problem with.

People like Dillon Scott.

The gossip mill at the station is strong. I hear the whispers and see the looks as people pass me. They all know. Everyone knows I was abducted with my sister when I was fourteen and I somehow managed to escape when I was eighteen, leaving my then thirteen-year-old sister behind. Each person knows I nearly died the day I escaped when I was hit by a Ford pickup truck. Hell, it’s in the system—they only have to seek the information out on their computer and it’s all there for them to see. To make assumptions about me and talk in hushed voices over drinks at the bar…they’re about as subtle as your boyfriend going down on you wearing a gas mask.

After the accident, I’d spent three weeks in a medical induced coma due to internal bleeding and swelling of my brain, and when I woke up, I remembered nothing.

I remembered Benny, or Benjamin…or whoever the fuck he really is, and him taking us. I remembered the way his slick skin felt on mine as he took what didn’t belong to him late into the evenings. I remember in the beginning the way
she
cried every night until she fell asleep. The worst part of remembering are certain triggers that affect me in my everyday life. I can shoot a man who pulls a weapon on me, but I can’t go to the bathroom in the middle of the night without a light on. The shadows taunt me; they watch me and hide the monsters that could be lurking there. I remember the deafening silence of my dream state. He stole everything from me in the end—even my dreams. I remember his scent, taste, height, how heavy he was when he pinned me to the small bed.

I just couldn’t remember anything else.

The important stuff. Where I ran away from. How long I’d been running before the truck hit me. How long we drove from the flea market the day he took us. The make and model of his van. Branding on any food he gave us. Any sort of detail that could help. Police asked me these questions, and they were the same questions I’ve since asked many other victims throughout my time on the force.

It always leads to nothing.

The police canvased the area for miles from the accident. No house went unchecked. It was as if I appeared out of thin air.

And I’ve been looking for her ever since.

Until I find her, I do what I can to find other missing girls. They call me the tracker, in jest.

I’m ruthless and tend to bend rules when I need to in order to solve missing person cases.

Chief Stanton and Lieutenant Wallis are always on my ass for it. I’ve been written up more times than I can count for chasing rabbits without backup right into the lion’s den. So far, I’ve been lucky, and I’ll take all the luck I can get. I need it to find her. I’ll never give up on her.

But my determined personality is what makes me go through partners like most people change their underwear. Nobody likes working with me. Dillon’s lasted the longest, I’ll give him that. He’s a prick though and nobody likes partnering with him either. We’re an unlikely pair.

The entire route to the mall, I wonder if this missing girl could be the link to finding my sister. It’s how I treat each missing person case. With a fine tooth comb, I rake through the details until I shake out all the clues and leads. Our precinct leads the state on solved cases, and because of this, the woman with the most write-ups on her record also has the most accolades. It drives the boys in the department nuts.

I don’t care about them, though. Or the awards.

I don’t care if I get written up a thousand times.

All I care about is finding
them.

Finding
her.

I may have always wanted to be in the police force, but after
him
, after leaving her, I had to be. I needed the best position and resources at my disposal to help me hunt him down.

“This place has really gone to shit since the nineties. Back in my day, this mall was a respectable place to hang out. We were good kids and didn’t get into any shit. Now, it’s full of fuckin’ gangsters. Look,” Dillon points as he circles a group of mostly dark-skinned teens, “point made.”

I roll my eyes as he stops the squad car. “You’re a redneck racist, Scott. Those kids look like normal teens to me. You go inside and question the respectable people. I’ll talk to the ‘gangsters’.” I smirk at him, which earns me a muttered, “Fuck you, I wasn’t referring to their skin color.”

“If I get ‘clipped’ while you’re inside, it was nice knowing you,” I add, bringing my fingers up to my lips to mimic being afraid. He grumbles, but doesn’t reward me with a reply as he stalks off. I approach the “gang” with purpose.

Find the girl.

“Detective Phillips. I’d like to ask you guys a couple questions,” I say, revealing my badge on my belt.

A couple of the teen boys look nervous and hiss under their breath, but I’m not here to bust them for a little pot or whatever it is they’re worried about. I only care about finding the girl.

Pulling my phone from my blazer pocket, I hold up a picture of the missing person. Alena Stevens. Her bright blue eyes haunt me. She’s sweet and innocent.
Like I was.

“Were you kids here yesterday?”

“Pfft…kids.” One of the boys folds his arms and glares at me. “Yeah, so what? It’s not a crime.”

“Seen this girl?” I ask, holding up her image.

The group visibly relaxes and a girl with black hair slicked back into a ponytail steps forward. She smacks her gum and narrows her eyes. “Yeah, I think I saw her at Raze yesterday. She was trying on some glittery-ass pumps only white girls would be caught dead wearing.” The group sniggers, all except a petite creamy-skinned girl holding hands with a boy the forthcoming girl can’t keep her eyes off. I raise a brow at her.

“Do you have a sister?” I question, my voice gentle.

She tilts her head to the girl beside her who looks just like her. “Keisha, yeah. So?”

“Alena is someone’s sister. Someone took her from her family. The world is full of evil, vile people. Every second is precious in finding this girl. If it were Keisha, you’d want help too.”

Her gaze softens and she glances at Keisha. “I saw her talking to a guy outside the store.”

My interest piques and I flip open my pad. “Guy? Describe the guy.”

“I don’t know. Kinda cute, I guess, if you like Orlando Bloom.” Her sister snickers and a cold chill washes over me.

“Please be more descriptive. What’s your name?”

“Kiki.”

“What did the man look like, Kiki? Was he young? Old? Did he have facial hair? What was he wearing?”

She plays with the hoop earring in her ear while looking over my face. “Maybe like your age. You know, old. He had curly brown hair. I guess he was cute. White girl thought so. Her face was bright-ass red and the girl was smiling so big, I thought she was planning their wedding in her head or some shit.”

A shudder ripples through me. I remember the way he made me and Macy smile. How he wooed us right into his van.
It’s him. It has to be him.
A sense of urgency and then blood curdling alarm trickles through my veins and settles in my heart.
Thud
,
thud
,
thud
. If it is him and he’s looking for a new doll, what if he’s finished with Macy?

“Can you tell me anything else? Did you hear them talking? Did he force her to go with him?” I bark, my height leering over her, causing her to lose some of the sass she held in her posture moments before. Her hand drops from her hip and cradles around her stomach.

She shrugs, but her voice holds a slight quiver. “He wasn’t forcing her to do nothin’. She just nodded her head at whatever he said and followed him.”

With a sigh, I force a smile even though I want to throw up. “Thanks. Anyone else see anything that can help us in our investigation?” I still don’t have anything I can really work with—no trail to follow. Just a description that could be him, but also a thousand other men.

They all shake their heads and I try not to let the crush of defeat swallow me whole.

This isn’t defeat; this still could be a lead. The perp sounds oddly like
him
and the behavior matches his MO.

I will find his ass eventually.

“There.” I point to the image on the monitor from the mall’s security footage. It’s Alena leaving the store alone and a man matching the description Kiki gave follows less than a minute later. His head is down and he slips a baseball cap on to hide his face. “Can you alter the angle?” I demand.

“No, this is the only one that faces that part of the mall,” the tech guy announces, playing around with buttons and bringing the lighting up a notch on the screen to better illuminate the picture. This room is small and stuffy as hell. It’s claustrophobic for a mall this big and there has to be a hundred monitors in here. Dillon’s huge frame crowds my own in the tiny space and every time I inhale, it’s his exhale I’m filling my lungs with. He smells sweet like he’s sucking on some candy. My stomach growls and I roll my eyes at the very thought of sweet and Dillon in the same thought.

“What about the exits?” Dillon asks, leaning over the guy’s shoulder and brushing my arm as he does. An icy shiver runs through me despite the heat of the room. I don’t do well in cramped spaces.

He types stuff into his computer and clicks on a file. “When you guys called this morning, I got straight on here and found the girl,” he says, jabbing his finger at the screen. “That’s her exiting the mall.”

He shows us the girl on a different camera. She’s leaving via the southwest parking lot and quickly goes out of view. The security guy lifts his hand to end the footage and I grab his wrist, stopping him. “Wait.” Moments later, the man in the cap comes out.

My heart rate increases as I watch the man on the screen. He doesn’t look big enough to be Benny, but it’s been eight years since I last saw him. He could have lost weight and mass.

It’s him. It has to be him.

“He goes a different direction,” Dillon announces, dropping his gaze to my chest and then looking away. It’s subtle, but I pick up on it straightaway. Heat floods through me which doesn’t help my situation in this cramped room.

“Doesn’t mean he didn’t come back,” I argue, fanning myself, “or cut her off a different way.”

His head swivels back to me, dark brows pinched together as he scrutinizes me. “Or he’s just a guy leaving the mall to go home.”

There it is again. His stare drops to my chest and I look down to the spot he keeps gawking at. My mouth drops open and then closes as my skin burns on the edge of mortification. A button has come open and sweat glistens on my cleavage all out there for everyone to see. Fumbling with my jacket, I pull it closed over my shirt and risk overheating.

A smile plays at one corner his lips and he gives a slight shake of his head before he grows serious again. “He doesn’t come back. It’s just a guy,” Dillon concludes, bringing his eyes to my face.

Just a guy my ass. Benny isn’t just a guy—he’s a monster.

A defeated huff leaves me. Dillon’s right. We will need more than the evidence on the footage. Tapping the tech guy on the shoulder and gesturing with a pointed finger at the screen, I tell him, “Send these over to the precinct. It’s evidence.”

I leave Dillon and the man alone, eagerly escaping the suffocating room that reminds me all too much of a prison I lived in.

I’m coming for you, Benny.