ideal stepmother, but at least she treats me like a sister and doesn’t try to be my mom. Plus, she’s my size and has some pretty cool clothes and she’s always trying to buy my love.” The girl held out her arm and jangled her bracelet. “Check these out. They’re real.”
“Really?” Sarah bent over the gemstones. “Those are nice.”
Her friend nodded. “Nothing but real diamonds and real gold for Taylor.” Her voice sounded too old for someone so young. When had our children stopped being children?
“At least—” Sarah started to say, then stopped abruptly.
“A least what?” the other girl asked.
“At least you have a great dad,” Sarah said quietly. “A really great dad, and cool grandparents, and a thousand cousins and uncles and aunts.”
Her friend nodded. “And I bet every single one of them is going to hate Taylor.” The girls burst out laughing and every male head on the bus turned to watch. I can’t say I blamed them. It was the sound of sirens luring men to their death on rocky seas.
“I’ll invite you to the wedding,” the other girl told Sarah. “Want to be a bridesmaid? I could guilt her into it.”
Sarah shook her head. “No way. I’m opposed to step-mothers on principle.”
“I bet you are,” the other girl said as she rose from her seat. “It’s us.”
“Already?” Sarah asked and I understood then that their minutes on the bus together might be all she had when it came to human contact that brought her pleasure without expectations or danger in return.
“I know. It never takes long when you’re here.” The girl smiled at Sarah as I followed them down the aisle. They ignored the stares of the boys and the sudden quiet that fell upon their classmates as they passed by. There was something about Sarah’s friend that caused their insults and lewd suggestions to die on their tongues. Her dignity made them feel diminished and outclassed from the start. I hoped Sarah would learn from her. She would need it.
The two girls waved their thanks to the bus driver and stepped out into the sunshine, blinking against the glare. I stepped down after them and there, in the middle of the sidewalk, in a quiet suburban neighborhood, with sunlight spilling around us, I felt a stab of evil so pervasive and powerful that I clutched my hands around my middle as if that might, somehow, protect me from it.
I looked around, seeing nothing but a deserted block and empty houses, doors locked against the world while their inhabitants were away, extra cars lined neatly at the curb and in driveways. I felt the danger, though, and I felt it in every fiber of my being. I knew it was there. It was the same darkness that had lingered over the body of Vicky Meeks.
Her killer was near.
The girls walked down the sidewalk together, chatting about inconsequential matters, oblivious to what I felt. When they reached the corner, Sarah turned right and the other girl turned left. They waved each other a farewell.
An SUV parked to my right abruptly pulled out from the curb and rolled down the street, the sound of its engine unnoticed by anyone but me. I turned around to get a better look at the driver. I could feel the choking darkness drawing closer. It was shiny black and its windows were tinted as deeply as the law allowed, hiding its driver from view. I’d seen it before—I’d seen it following Maggie.
Tinted windows could not stop me. Within seconds, I sat in the front seat next to the driver, surrounded by the smells of new leather seats—and a feeling of danger so pervasive it sucked the very oxygen from the air.
The driver was Alan Hayes.
He sat behind the wheel, his back ramrod straight, his tie perfectly knotted, his shoes immaculate and gleaming, his expensive suit custom fit to his frame. He did not look like a man who had been questioned by police the night before. He looked like the leader of a European conglomerate, tall, sophisticated, and utterly successful.
I clung to how he looked, not wanting to believe that the feeling of danger came from him. I told myself that he was just a nervous father following his daughter home from the bus stop, anxious to see that she was safe. Overprotective, perhaps, and maybe for the wrong reasons, but he had lost one daughter, so the fear of losing another would be very real for him. Surely he was not