The Kill (17 page)

“Ask your people to come in. Officially.” Zack ran a hand over his face. “You’re right. This could be the break we need. I’ll talk to Chief Pierson first thing in the morning.”

Olivia nodded. It was the smartest thing to do. She dreaded leaving Seattle. She wanted to be here when they caught this guy. She needed to see him, face him. Confront him.

But stopping him was her number-one goal. If exposing her fraud meant getting closer to finding Missy’s killer, then she would be exposed.

“I think we’re getting closer,” Zack said as if reading her thoughts. “There’s nothing more we can do tonight; it’s nearly one. Go home, get some sleep, and be back here at eight.”

Curly Bear had to come. And Bessie, her Beanie cow she got for her birthday last year from Auntie Grace. A sweater because it got cold at night. Extra underwear and socks in case it took a couple of days. Oh! Don’t forget money. She had eighty-six dollars in her Cinderella bank. She used to have one hundred and eleven dollars, but last month she bought Michelle a birthday present with her own money, an art set, because Michelle wanted to be an artist when she grew up.

Amanda swallowed back the lump in her throat and willed herself not to cry. If she cried her mommy might hear her and she’d never be able to find Michelle.

But last night when she cried, her mommy didn’t come. Maybe Mommy wouldn’t notice, no matter what Amanda did.

Amanda bit the inside of her cheek and sucked in her bottom lip. Daddy had cried. She’d never once in her entire life seen her daddy cry, but he’d cried three times since Michelle went to Heaven.

Amanda didn’t know exactly where Heaven was. Whenever Mommy talked about it, she said Heaven was in the sky. When they went to church on Easter and Christmas, the preacher guy in the long dress said Jesus was
up
in Heaven.

Amanda hadn’t been born when Mount St. Helens erupted, but she’d watched a show with Daddy about it one night a long time ago. She’d been scared that night and crawled into bed with Michelle.

“What if that mountain blows up and buries us?” she’d asked as she pulled Michelle’s pretty pink comforter tight around her.

“It won’t.”

“But the guy on the show said it could.”

“Only if God wants it to.”

“God? Why would he want to bury us?”

“Silly, when a volcano erupts it’s an act of God. That’s what Mommy said. So if it happens, it happens. There’s nothing you can do about it.”

Amanda had to find Heaven and bring Michelle home. If she brought Michelle home, Mommy would stop crying and hug her again. Amanda feared God took Michelle because they argued about everything, like when Michelle took the biggest piece of pizza or borrowed Amanda’s new bicycle she got for her sixth birthday and then crashed it into Mrs. Hendrick’s rosebushes and bent the frame.

Michelle could have her bicycle and the biggest slice of pizza forever and ever. Maybe if Amanda said she was sorry for yelling at her sister, God would let her come back from Heaven.

She just had to find Heaven first. The only way she could think of getting to Heaven was to start at the place where God told the world He was mad. Mount St. Helens.

She hoped eighty-six dollars was enough money to get there.

Brenda Davidson hadn’t stopped crying for more than a few minutes since her daughter had been found dead.

She hadn’t cried when Michelle was missing. Certainly, she would come home safe. Bad things happened to
other
children. Not hers. Not her baby.

She sucked in a deep breath that ended on a sob.

That woman yesterday—Brenda should have her fired. How dare she accuse her of neglecting her children! Who was she to judge? Michelle had been with friends. It wasn’t her fault she was stolen. It wasn’t
her
fault she was killed.

But in the back of her mind, in the center of her heart, she blamed only herself.

“You have two other children, Mrs. Davidson. Have you told them you love them?”

She told her children she loved them all the time. She baked cookies and took the girls to Girl Scouts every week and Peter to soccer practice and she volunteered at their school every Friday for pizza lunch. She
showed
her love all the time.

Brenda slammed a pan on the stove. Look, she was making them pancakes! She’d lost her daughter and was cooking in the damn kitchen. She took care of her own. She’d always take care of her own.

Brenda reached into a drawer and pulled out a metal shape. She stared at it for a long time, tears streaming down her swollen face. Michelle loved her Mickey Mouse pancakes. She’d eat four of them piled high with strawberry jam. And on special occasions, Brenda would let the kids put whipped cream on top.

Brenda slid to the floor, silent sobs wracking her body.
It’s all my fault
. She hadn’t been diligent enough. She hadn’t watched Michelle closely enough. She hadn’t thought anything bad could ever happen to her baby . . .

“Mom?”

She sucked in a shaky breath, her body heavy, her movements awkward. She blinked and looked up at her son. “What?” Her voice was thick, a mere whisper.

“I can’t find Amanda.”

“What’s she up to now?” Brenda pulled herself up, using the counter to support her weight. “Where’s your father?”

“Sleeping,” Peter said, his voice low.

Andy had slept away the days since Michelle’s death. How dare he sleep! She hadn’t been able to sleep more than a few minutes at a time, because every time she closed her eyes she saw Michelle. It wasn’t fair that she had to carry this burden alone. It wasn’t fair that her baby had been taken from her.

“It’s not fair!” she screamed.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Peter flinch and close in on himself, his shoulders huddling, trying to make himself smaller.

You have two other children, Mrs. Davidson. They need you now more than ever.

What was she doing? What was she doing to her own children?

“Peter—” She reached out for him, stumbled over her feet, and pulled him into her arms. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” She held him close. “I love you, Peter. I’m sorry, so sorry for everything. Please, please forgive me.”

“I love you, Mom. I know you miss Michelle. I miss her too.”

“I miss her terribly.” She’d never get rid of the black stain on her heart. “But you need me and I haven’t been here for you.”

“I understand, Mom.” Tears streamed down Peter’s face. Had he cried yet? Certainly he was grieving, too. He adored his sisters. Even though he was thirteen, he played games with them and let them follow him around the neighborhood without too much complaint. “But Mom? I really am worried about Amanda. I don’t know where she is.”

Brenda’s heart skipped. No, nothing was wrong with Amanda. She was a good kid. “I’m sure she’s around. She’s been taking to spending time in her playhouse. You look upstairs, I’ll go in the backyard.”

But as Brenda reached the large plastic house in the middle of the patio, she knew Amanda wasn’t inside. Panic building, she searched the entire yard, calling her name.

“Amanda! Amanda!”

She didn’t answer. She wasn’t outside.

She wasn’t inside.

She was missing.

“Andy! Dammit, Andy!” Brenda burst into the bedroom she’d shared with her husband until Michelle went missing. “Andy, Amanda’s gone!”

Andy sat upright and for the first time, Brenda saw the fatigue and pain etched in his face. Maybe he hadn’t been sleeping. Maybe he’d been agonizing just like her. Alone.

“Call 911. And Detective Travis.” Andy jumped from the bed and pulled on a T-shirt that had been balled up on the floor. “I’ll get the neighbors looking. We’ll find her. We
will
find her!”

“I can’t lose another child,” Brenda sobbed.

At the same time, Andy and Brenda saw the note on their dresser. The painstakingly neat block printing in purple crayon:

To Mommy and Daddy.

“Dear God, Andy, did I chase her away? Where on earth would she go?”

The shrill beep of her cell phone jolted Olivia from sleep. She fumbled for the small phone and squinted in the dark to read the red digits of the hotel’s clock. 6:34. She moaned. After tossing and turning most of the night, she’d managed only three hours of sleep.

“Hello,” she said before the fourth ring.

“Liv? It’s Greg.”

She rubbed her eyes. “Sorry. I overslept.”

“You probably haven’t slept much at all,” he said, his voice tinged with worry. “How are you holding up?”

“I’m okay. We’re making headway.”

“I wanted you to know I finished the DNA testing on the sample Seattle sent me and it’s a 1-in-100,000 match to the sample from Missy.”

Her body tensed and she stifled a sob. Her instincts told her she was right that Missy’s killer was in Seattle, her experience told her she was right, but hearing the definitive proof . . . “Thank you, Greg.”
Thank you
seemed wholly inadequate. Greg was risking a reprimand or worse for not only helping her deceive the Seattle Police Department into giving her full access to the case, but using government resources without authorization.

“I received the pubic hair samples this morning. I’ll jump on those today and should have an answer in the morning.” He paused. “Rick asked about you this morning.”

“Oh?”

“I told him you were fine.”

“I’m sorry I put you in the position of lying to your boss.”

“I put myself in this position, Olivia. You’d never rest if you didn’t do everything you could to help. But I’m still worried about you. What are you going to do if you catch this guy?”

She’d been thinking the same thing for days. What would she do? Confront him? Slap him? Tell him to go to hell? Nothing seemed adequate. Nothing she could do would right the wrongs he’d committed. Nothing she could say would take away the pain and knowledge that for thirty-four years, a violent predator walked the streets.

“I don’t know, Greg,” she said.

“When this is all over, Liv, you know I’ll still be here for you.”

“I know.” Her voice was a mere whisper. Yes, she knew. Greg still loved her. She’d been an awful wife—she couldn’t give him the affection he deserved. She’d been distant and uncomfortable sharing her fears, preferring solitude to companionship. But still he stood by her, and she’d never forget it.

“I’ll let you know about the pubic hair when I’m done, but I’ll also contact the Seattle lab director, Doug Cohn, and send him a written report. They’ll need it for court down the road.”

“Thank you, Greg.”

She said goodbye and shut her phone, sitting on the edge of the hotel mattress, the room suddenly too sterile. How had she ended up here, three thousand miles from her job, her friends, her house?

Friends? What friends? Her closest friend was actually here in Seattle and she hadn’t even told Miranda she was nearby. And Rowan, her other roommate from the FBI Academy, was taking it easy in Colorado, at peace for the first time in her life. Her ex-husband Greg was her only other close friend, and she felt like she was using him.

Her house in Virginia wasn’t a home. Though more tastefully decorated than the hotel room in which she now sat, it was hardly more intimate. She spent all her time working; she didn’t need anything special to come home to.

Suddenly, she felt old. She’d be forty in a few months and here she was lying and manipulating people for the first time in her life. She didn’t believe in superstition or omens or any of that nonsense, but she couldn’t help but think her treachery and deceit was adding to the evil in the world.

Slowly, she made her way to the bathroom and turned the shower on full hot. The water pressure was pathetic, but at least the temperature was right. She stripped and stood under the stinging spray and willed the shower to give her the energy she needed to maintain her façade today.

As soon as she turned off the water, she heard pounding on the door. She jumped out of the tub and grabbed a towel, but it didn’t cover anything. She hadn’t ordered room service. Dripping water, she rushed to the bed and slid into the thin white cotton robe she’d brought from home. This wasn’t a five-star hotel with complimentary terry robes and body wraps.

The pounding continued, and she heard a muffled voice call her name, but the door was too thick to distinguish it. She glanced through the keyhole.

Zack Travis.

She fumbled with the locks and opened the door. “What—”

He immediately stepped in, and she took a step back. “Jesus Christ, I thought something had happened to you. You must sleep like the dead, I was knocking for ten—” He looked her over, slowly. “Oh.” He didn’t avert his eyes. They darkened, turning nearly black, as he took in her wet hair and damp robe, his gaze dropping to her chest, then back to her face.

Her body reacted to his appreciative stare. Her breasts tingled, her nipples hardened, her throat suddenly tightened. She swallowed and took another step back to let him walk in, then closed the door, grateful he was no longer looking at her, though her body still betrayed her desire.

“I didn’t realize I needed to call you for permission to shower.” She tried to sound professional and tough, as if she hadn’t noticed the way Zack had visually inspected her body. Instead, her voice came out low and throaty.

He turned to look at her again, stared at her, unmoving. She felt trapped against the door, unable to move into the room without touching him. The thought sent a shiver through her, which she couldn’t dismiss as being chilled after her shower. The sensation remained, and she was more than aware that her thin cotton robe had molded too close to her wet body.

So was Zack.

He stepped toward her and she made the mistake of looking at his lips. They parted and he licked them.

Anticipation made her heart race. His hand came up and wrapped around the back of her neck. An involuntary shiver ran through her body.

She wanted to tell him to back off. She couldn’t get the words out. Instead, her eyelids drooped and her lips parted, aching to taste his.