enemies are killed with a knife. That was how Marie died. That is the way they will all die.
She will save Rylee for last.
Twenty-Eight
I walk to my car. I’m caught. Whoever is doing this is using my personal life to get to me. Taunting me. Exposing me. Distracting me from chasing them down. They don’t realize they’re just fanning the flames. I can always move. Take on a new persona, a new job, a new life. They’ll be dead.
When I get home, I go right back to the tape player.
Dr. A: Did the dream have meaning for you?
Me: Caleb told me one time that dreams were messages from your subconscious. I’m more practical than that, but I let him believe that I agreed. I hated lying to him, but I saw the lie as a way to get just a little bit closer to him. So if he was right and I was wrong—and I don’t like admitting it—what was that dream, that horrific dream, telling me? Was Selma me? Was Selma my mother? We’re both blond, not dark-haired like Selma. Our hair is straight, not the mass of curls of the girl running away from the van.
Then it begins to hit me. I roll out of the bed and go to the bathroom, where I sit on the toilet and cry. I am crying so loudly that I turn on the shower so people in the motel room next door can’t hear. In the mirror I see my mother again. Not a ghost or a spirit or whatever, but the essence of her in my face. I don’t say the words, but they move from my mind to wherever my mom is being held.
Hold on.
I’m coming.
I will make him pay with his life.
We will be free.
Dr. A: Did you have doubts? Weren’t you afraid?
Me: I was only fifteen—sixteen at the most. I’m a girl. I’ve never shot a gun or hurt anyone in my life. All the odds are against me except the one thing that my bio-dad could never count on. I am determined to be as ruthless as he is.
I put the tape player away. I’m done in. I need to sleep. I need to decide if I can be as ruthless as this killer. The answer comes right away.
Yes, I can.
Twenty-Nine
The next morning, on my way to the office, I think about calling Clay. I was caught off guard by his interest in me the other day. Actually, that’s not totally correct. I could sense something there before. And Ronnie said that she thought Clay was “sweet on me.” I don’t want to encourage that.
I didn’t do so well with Dan last night. He walked out of the bar on me and was in a foul mood. No, he was hurt. I don’t blame him for thinking I’m lying about the pictures, because I am, and Dan is pretty attuned to my thoughts.
Maybe going out with another detective would be easier. Out with the old, in with the new. Clay might understand when I don’t want to answer questions about a case. Or not. Maybe it would be worse. Considering his police background, Clay would be more of a problem to lie to.
I decide to call him. Make it clear that I’m dating someone. Not that Dan will ever ask me out again. But I definitely don’t want to date a cop.
I look up the call he made to me yesterday and punch the number. “Detective Osborne, this is Detective Carpenter.”
“Hi, Megan. You can still call me Clay, even though I am somewhat of a hero. Thanks, by the way, for cleaning up that mess for me.”
He is referring to the case last month where I unveiled two serial killers and helped him and another county clear several homicides. I felt he owed me one. That was why I called and asked him to guard Gabrielle until she arranged to stay with someone.
He asks, “Am I supposed to call you Detective Carpenter now?”
I could hear the humor in his voice. Shut up, I’m trying to be serious, I think. “No. Megan’s fine.”
He’s laughing now. It’s not really funny. I ask, “So what’s going on with Gabrielle? She didn’t call to tell me she’d arrived. Did she call you?”
“She didn’t call me, but I told her to avoid using that phone and get another one. She’ll call you and give you her number. She probably hasn’t had time to get one.”