Torn - Cynthia Eden Page 0,14
say on TV,” Lucas muttered. “If you don’t find them in that first forty-eight hours, the chance of the person coming home alive . . . it goes down so damn far.”
There was such pain in his voice. It pulled at her. She didn’t quite know how to handle the victims—not the living ones, anyway. That was why she spent so much of her time with the dead. They talked to her. She found evidence on them. She could recreate their last moments. Piece together what happened to them.
Track their killers.
Yes, it was the dead that helped her. The living . . . she just hurt for them.
At that moment, she was hurting for Lucas. “TV isn’t always reality,” she heard herself say.
Hope flashed in his eyes.
Oh, crap. I don’t want him to expect a miracle. Yes, they were in Savannah to help find Kennedy, but after five years—five years!—the chance of finding her alive . . .
It was astronomically low. Surely Lucas understood that?
Wade cleared his throat. He crossed to Victoria’s side, but when he spoke, his attention was on Lucas. “You told the police that Kennedy didn’t have any enemies.”
“Everyone loved her.” Lucas’s chin lifted. “Maybe that was the problem. She was so beautiful. She’d enter a room, and the men would take one look and want her. She was just that kind of woman, you know? You saw her, and you wanted her.”
Wade tilted his head to the side. “I’m sorry, but I have to ask you this . . . was Kennedy involved with anyone else? Were you two exclusive?”
“I was going to marry her.”
Wade’s expression remained neutral as he said, “If we’re going to do this right, you should know, we have to dig deep into Kennedy’s life. If she had secrets, we will uncover them. So if there’s something that you know—now is the time to share it.”
Actually, Victoria thought, five years ago would have been the time to share it.
“Were you exclusive?” Wade pushed. “Or was Kennedy involved with anyone else?”
Lucas’s gaze fell to the ground. “There were a few times . . . I—I thought she might be cheating. There were just . . . marks on her. Marks that I hadn’t put there.”
Now Victoria was curious. “Marks?”
Lucas’s jaw locked. “Faint bruises on her hips. Redness near her . . . her breasts. Marks that a lover would leave.”
“And you’re sure that you didn’t leave the marks?” Wade wanted to know.
“She said they were nothing.” Lucas’s gaze turned distant. “That she’d just bumped into something or that her clothes had chaffed her during her last workout. I was always the jealous type—she knew that. And she just laughed and told me that I didn’t have anything to worry about.” He ran his hand over his face. “I never saw her with anyone else. I never found any trace of the guy after she vanished, so I thought—I thought I was just being jealous.”
Wade was silent.
In the distance, Victoria heard the sharp cry of a bird.
They’d been out there for a while, and they hadn’t encountered any other people. The spot was so isolated. So perfect for an abduction.
“Her routine was the same, every day?” Wade asked.
Victoria was just letting him run with his questions. That was Wade’s thing. As a former homicide detective, he always seemed to know just what to ask the witnesses and family members.
She figured he could handle the living.
She’d stick with the dead.
Only I wish we could find Kennedy alive. She wished that sometimes the good guys would win and the monsters in the dark wouldn’t claim so many victims.
“Every single day,” Lucas rasped, “she’d run three miles. She said it helped her clear her head. Same path, same time. Kennedy liked her schedules.”
But a schedule like that could prove dangerous. It was too easy to follow someone else’s patterns. Too easy to watch and find those weak moments.
Victoria glanced around once more.
Too easy to find those isolated spots.
It was far better for people to vary their routines—to try different trails. Different times. Because you never knew . . .
Just who might be watching.
“I need closure,” Lucas suddenly said. Her gaze slid back to him. She tried to study him objectively—a handsome man, fit, in his late twenties. He seemed guileless, as his emotions flashed easily on his face and in his eyes. He was the one who’d contacted LOST. He was the one who’d never given up on Kennedy, but . . .
“Closure?” Victoria repeated carefully.
“I’ve found