The Kill (18 page)

When his mouth touched hers she’d expected the warmth; she hadn’t expected a lightning bolt to shoot through her, singeing her toes.

The kiss was brief but powerful. He stepped back and she opened her eyes. By the look on his face, he’d felt the same electricity sparking between them.

She didn’t want to give him any time to think about the mistake they’d just made.

“Excuse me,” she mumbled. She brushed past him, grabbing clothes from the closet, and stepped into the bathroom, shutting the door firmly and leaning against it. What was it about Zack Travis that got her all in a dither? She wasn’t a young female who lusted after hot cops. She was a mature, responsible professional. She had far more important things to do than go all goo-goo-eyed over a man.

She’d let him kiss her. She’d wanted him to kiss her. She wanted him to kiss her
again
.

But that was out of the question.

The shrill ring of a cell phone jolted her. But the ringer was Zack’s, not hers. She quickly slid into her skirt and silk camisole. She heard Zack bark his name into the phone.

Then silence. Who had called him? Did it have to do with the case? Had someone called the FBI to check on her credentials? Had Zack already talked to the bureau chief in Seattle and told him about her? She hadn’t had time to prepare. What would she tell him?

Zack might understand, but she’d be cut out of the investigation, sent back to Virginia. She’d never face her sister’s murderer and see justice finally done.

The information she’d gathered over the past few weeks while in Virginia had given them new leads. They had far more today than yesterday, and far more yesterday than when Jennifer Benedict was killed.

She
had
helped, even if she had broken the rules to do it. And whose damn rules were they anyway?

She didn’t want to deceive Zack, but she was in this until the end—whether it was today, tomorrow, or next week.

Taking a deep breath she slid into her blazer, dabbed concealer on the dark shadows under her eyes, put on a professional face, and ran a quick brush through her damp hair. She didn’t have time to bother with her appearance.

She opened the door and saw Zack standing against the wall, head back, eyes closed, his cell phone—now closed—held up to his forehead.

“What happened?”

He looked at her, his face pained. “That was Brenda Davidson. Her daughter Amanda is missing.”

Olivia’s heart leapt into her throat.

“We have to find her.”

Olivia was on edge the entire drive to the Davidsons’ house. Had Michelle’s killer taken Amanda? Did he have a personal vendetta against the Davidson family?

In none of the cases she reviewed had the killer taken a girl from her own home. It had certainly happened with other killers, just not this one. Unless she’d missed something. Had she missed an important connection?

No, not on a matter like this, but a seed of doubt kept her on edge.

Brenda Davidson shoved the letter at them as soon as they stepped into the house.

Dear Mommy and Daddy.
I went to Heven to find Michelle. I will tell God I am sorry. I will bring Michelle home and you wont cry anymore.
Your other dawter. Amanda Lynne Davidson.

She and Zack read the letter at the same time, and she caught his eye. Was this her fault? Had she given Amanda the wrong impression yesterday? Was she just as much to blame as the parents? More so?

Dear God, if you’re there, please protect her
! prayed Olivia.

“Everyone is out looking for her,” Andy Davidson said. “Every place she might go. But where? Why?”

“I’m so sorry,” Olivia said, thinking about her harsh words to Brenda Davidson.

“You were right.”

Brenda’s voice was so quiet, Olivia almost missed it. Zack said, “Excuse me?”

Brenda looked Olivia square in the eye, her blue eyes bright, bloodshot, and swollen. “You.”

“I was out of line yesterday—” Olivia began.

Brenda put her hand up and shook her head, her lips quivering. “N-no. You were right. I didn’t see what I was doing to my other children. I didn’t really
see
them, only the hole in our family. Only—Michelle.” Her voice quaked, but she swallowed and stuck her chin out as she pulled her son to her side, holding him tight as she kissed his head. She clasped hands with her husband, who embraced his family in a hug. “I can’t lose Amanda, too.”

“We’ll find her,” Olivia found herself saying. She knew better than anyone not to offer false hope. But certainly fate or God or whatever damn force was out there wouldn’t take Amanda away from this family. “Can we see her room?”

“The police already searched there,” Mr. Davidson said.

“I want to see it. Just for a minute.”

Olivia knew what Amanda must have been feeling. And if Amanda was like her, she would have left clues, hoping her mother or father would find her. While Olivia had never run away, she’d been lost her entire life.

Brenda took her upstairs, leaving Zack to talk to the uniformed officers who were coordinating the search out of the Davidsons’ spacious dining room. Olivia didn’t know what to say to the woman. She stopped her outside Amanda’s door. “Mrs. Davidson, I am truly sorry about yesterday.”

“Maybe if I’d listened, Amanda wouldn’t have run away. I neglected her.” Her voice caught and her hand fluttered to her lips. “I love her so much.”

“My sister was killed when we were kids,” Olivia found herself saying. “My—my mother.” She stopped, surprised that she’d spoken out loud.

Brenda reached out and took both of her hands. For the first time Olivia could remember, she didn’t flinch. Instead, she welcomed the connection. “She acted like I did,” Brenda said, squeezing Olivia’s hands. “I can now see what I was becoming. If you hadn’t said what you did, I don’t think I would have noticed what I’d been doing to my family. Thank you.”

“You love them.”

“Oh, yes. I’m sure your mother loved you, too. It’s just, the grief swallows you up sometimes.”

Olivia shook her head. “No, my mother couldn’t love anyone after Missy was—gone. She committed suicide on the anniversary of Missy’s murder.” Five years of living with a woman who gave birth to her but didn’t see her, didn’t touch her, didn’t acknowledge her. Olivia had wanted to disappear then, to be anyplace but home.

Brenda’s mouth dropped open and she pulled Olivia into a tight embrace. The hug felt awkward and Olivia didn’t return it, but Brenda didn’t seem to notice. “You poor child.” Child? Olivia was fast approaching forty; she was certain Brenda was younger than she. She couldn’t remember anyone calling her a
child
. But if she were a child again, she’d want a woman like Brenda Davidson to be her mother.

Brenda stepped back and stared at Olivia, resolve written across her face. “We will find Amanda and bring her home. And I promise you, she will never doubt I love her with my whole heart. We will survive.”

Olivia believed her.

They didn’t see anything useful in Amanda’s room. Brenda repeated what was missing—a couple of stuffed animals, some clothing, and money, about a hundred dollars they figured was in her piggy bank. Her bicycle was missing from the garage as well.

As they walked out of the room, Olivia spotted a computer in an alcove at the top of the stairs. Bookshelves on either side were stuffed with papers and kids’ books.

“This isn’t your husband’s office.”

“No, it’s for the children. Homework and computer games.”

“Does Amanda know how to use the computer?”

Brenda smiled sadly. “What kid these days doesn’t?”

Olivia sat at the terminal and was about to boot up the computer when she saw that it was already on. She moved the mouse and the blank screen was replaced by a desktop photo of the Davidson children—all three of them—in Halloween costumes.

Brenda drew in a shaky breath. “God, I miss her so much.”

“You always will,” Olivia said quietly. She brought up the Internet browser and looked at the history.

Mapquest, a free Internet mapping program, was accessed at 3:35 A.M. Today. Heart racing, she pulled up the last viewed map.

“Would Amanda have any reason to go to Mount St. Helens?” she asked.

“St. Helens? Good God, no.” Brenda leaned over Olivia’s shoulder. “Oh my God. She’s scared to death of volcanoes. She wasn’t born when St. Helens erupted, but we all talk about it. She said when God gets mad he’ll make the mountain blow up.” She jumped up. “That’s over a hundred miles away! My poor baby.” Brenda ran down the stairs, calling for her husband.

Olivia printed the map Amanda had with her and tried to think like a six-year-old.

Interstate 5, which led to Mount St. Helens, was two miles from the Davidsons’ suburban house, but there was no way little Amanda could get her bicycle on the freeway and ride undetected. The highway patrol would certainly have spotted the child by now. Even if she were as determined as she seemed, the freeway would be too frightening. No, Amanda would stick with side streets as much as she could.

Olivia focused on the map and picked the straightest route that stayed away from the freeway. Okay, six years old on a bike. She’d start off riding fast, but she’d get tired and slow down. Maybe she’d average two miles an hour? That would put her just north of Kent.

“Olivia?” Zack ran up the stairs and looked over her shoulder. “The mom says she’s going to Mount St. Helens. What’s going on?”

Olivia filled him in on what she’d learned as they went back downstairs. “I think she’s about here by now,” she pointed to the area around Kent.

Zack nodded. “Let’s go.”

“I’m going with you,” Brenda said.

“You should stay here in case she calls,” Zack told her.

Mr. Davidson shook his head. “No, I’ll stay. Go, Brenda. Bring Amanda home.”

Amanda sat under the big tree and cried. Her legs hurt and she’d eaten all the food she’d brought and was still hungry. Somewhere, maybe when she stopped in the field and peed, she’d lost Bessie. The sun was hot, but she didn’t dare take off her jacket because she’d forgotten sunscreen and she burned easily.

She was going to disappoint her mommy. She’d never make it to the volcano to get Michelle back. It seemed so much closer on the computer, but she couldn’t even see the mountain yet. She’d never be able to make things right and have her mommy love her again. But she couldn’t go home.

Maybe her mommy wouldn’t notice she’d left. Maybe she’d still be crying and Amanda could sneak back in tonight.

Her breath hitched in her chest as she wiped her tears. She’d go home and hide in the garage until everyone went to bed and then she’d go inside. No one would miss her.

“Amanda!”

She looked up. Mommy? “Mommy!” She jumped up and ran as fast as her tired legs could take her. “Mommy!”

“Oh, baby.” Her mother scooped her into her arms and hugged her so tight she couldn’t breathe, but she didn’t say anything because she’d never felt so good in her life. She cried uncontrollably.

“Mommy, I tried to get Michelle back, I tried, but Heaven’s too far away and I can’t find it.” Her mother’s tears mingled with her own. “You’re still crying, Mommy. I’m sorry.”

“No, baby, no. I’m crying because I’m so happy.”

“But—”

“I love you. I love you so much. You scared me, Amanda. I didn’t know where you were, I didn’t know why you’d gone.”

“I didn’t think you’d notice if I left.”

Her mother’s body stiffened. Then she sat on the ground and pulled Amanda into her lap and kissed her all over. “Baby, I love you. I’m the one who’s sorry.”

“You miss Michelle.”

“Yes. Yes, I miss Michelle.”

“I miss her too.”

“I know you do.” Brenda hugged her daughter tight to her chest, running her hand up and down her back, wishing she could take away the pain and sadness that had filled their lives since Michelle died.

She’d never forget Michelle. Michelle had a private space in her heart. But more important, she’d never neglect the rest of her family again.

They needed her. And what she hadn’t realized until now was that she needed them.

Zack and Olivia didn’t talk much on the ride back from the Davidsons’. By the time they’d brought Amanda and Brenda back to the house, it was after noon. They went to the station, where the sketch artist shared her work, but it was too vague for the news media to use. The man could have been anyone, and the artist wasn’t confident that Sean had remembered enough detail.

The only thing Sean described well was the tattoo. When Olivia saw the sketch, she knew without a doubt that it was the same tattoo as on the man who killed Missy.

Brian Harrison Hall had the identical tattoo on his arm.

“The man in California who was just released had a tattoo just like that,” Olivia said. “A witness identified him by his tattoo.”

Zack looked at his copy of the sketch. “Blue eagle. California—” he glanced at the board. “That was thirty-four years ago. The first victim.” He paused, looked at Olivia. “We’d talked about how this killer probably doesn’t work with a partner, but what if he and this other guy—what did you say his name was? Hall?”

She nodded, not surprised that Zack remembered.

He tapped the tattoo sketch. “Okay, let’s think this through. Let’s assume that Hall was innocent—and I’m betting he was. If he suspected our guy, he would have said something about it, agreed?”

“Agreed.”

“So Hall is innocent, but it’s too damn coincidental that two men of about the same age and build, with the same tattoo, in the same town, with access to the same truck didn’t know each other.”

“You mean they might have known each other even if Hall had nothing to do with the murder?” It clicked. It made sense.

“Exactly.” Zack stood, paced. “Let’s say, because of the tattoo, that they served in Vietnam together. Hall got out when?” He grabbed a file and started flipping through it.

“April 10, 1972,” Olivia said, taking the file from him. She didn’t want Zack to see all the details in the file. She’d only written the victims’ first names on the white board.