was going to find her. Not in this remote, abandoned building. And certainly no one suspected Parker was the killer, so even if someone noticed he was absent from the station, they would never connect him to her disappearance.
Her only hope was to pacify the man and wait for an opportunity to escape.
“Okay.” She forced an expression of interest on her face. “Tell me.”
Another charming smile. “There was once a little boy.” He paused, pretending to consider his words. “Let’s call him Carl. He was very shy. Very quiet. Like a mouse. Do you know why?”
Lynne swallowed. She’d always thought those mystery shows where the detective spent the last half hour of the movie revealing his brilliance were goofy. Now she understood. Parker didn’t care about sharing the details of his psychopathic mind. He wanted to be the center of attention.
Even if she was his only audience.
Play along, Lynne. Just play along.
“Because he was scared?” she forced herself to question.
He clicked his tongue with disappointment. “Ah, you know the story.”
“Not really, but a puppy makes himself small when he’s scared.”
“Yes.” He nodded. “Invisible. Meaningless.”
“What happened to—” She bit off her words, well aware that her life depended on keeping Parker from snapping. “Carl?”
“He tried to make himself small. He even pretended he was a shadow, not a real person. That way nothing could touch him. That was a fantasy, of course. Nothing could help him avoid the blows.”
“Carl was abused?”
“Abused.” Parker spat out the word. Like it was a curse. “Such a pointless word. These days everyone is abused.” He waved his arm in a dramatic gesture. “You sneeze in a room and someone cries they’ve been abused.”
Lynne slid back an inch. The feeling was returning to her legs. It was a tingly, painful sensation that intensified the cold chills shivering through her body, but it meant she could stand. And eventually walk. Then run.
At some point, she was going to try. If she had to die, it wasn’t going to be sitting on her ass.
“Then what happened to Carl?”
Parker returned to his pacing. “He was tortured.”
Lynne dared another inch. “I’m sorry.”
He snorted. “Are you?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t even know what I mean by torture.” He sent her an accusing glance, thankfully unaware she’d moved. “Shall I describe the sound a forearm makes when it’s being snapped in two? Or the smell of burning flesh when you press a hot iron to the skin? Or the exact shades of color that surround a black eye?”
In spite of herself, Lynne made a sound of distress. Was he describing his childhood? Yes. She could see it in the empty gray of his eyes. The deadness that came with the inability to connect to the world after years of abuse. She’d seen it in animals. Why hadn’t she seen it in Parker?
Because he’d created a façade to fool the world, she silently realized.
A cruel smile curved his lips. “Does that trouble you?”
“Yes.”
His mocking expression faltered, as if he was caught off guard by her genuine sympathy.
“I haven’t gotten to the true torture,” he told her. “It’s the waiting. The cowering in the dark as you listen to the screams from the next room. The suffocating fear as you hear the footsteps coming closer and closer to the bed. The pleading for mercy that falls on deaf ears.”
There was a chilling intensity in his voice. “Did you—”
“Shh.” He snapped his fingers, his jaw tightening. “We’re talking about Carl.”
She forced herself to take a deep, calming breath. It didn’t ease her panic, but it helped her to focus. Obviously, it was important she separate Carl from Parker. Deadly important.
“Did Carl escape his torture?” she asked.
His smooth composure returned as he resumed his pacing. “One night a brave lawman put a bullet through the heart of the monster.”
Her breath was slowly squeezed from her lungs. “Rudolf?”
“Yes. He was Carl’s hero.”
Lynne struggled to work through exactly what Parker was telling her. As far as she knew, Rudolf had only shot one man during his years as sheriff.
Delbert Frey.
So that meant Parker Bowen must be his son, Carl Frey. And he obviously grew up in Pike. Had they gone to school together? The name didn’t ring any bells, but then the combination of the lingering sedative and sheer terror wasn’t helping conjure up her childhood memories.
It also meant Kir had been right. His father was at the center of the killer’s obsession.
“What did Carl do after . . .” She hesitated, unsure if his father’s name might trigger Parker into