Chapter 24

His shocking words hung in the air like vultures. She shuddered and touched her hair. “Are you saying hair color is the connection?”

He stared at her, his gaze assessing. “You tell me.”

“Come on. That’s ridiculous. The victims are young girls in their teens. Why would this man target two different age groups? I’m not an expert, but I watch crime shows on television, and even I know that’s not how these predators work. They pick a type and stick to it.” She squeezed her hands between her knees to stop their trembling. A sob hitched in her throat, but she swallowed it back and clenched her hands so tight the pain of her nails digging into her palms edged out this new terror.

Aiden stared out the window, a pulse in his rigid jaw beating.

The suffocating silence thickened until she couldn’t breathe. “You think—” She swallowed. “You’re saying—” She struggled to swallow again. “—you’re saying I was attacked because of my hair color?”

“No, I’m not saying that. Not at all.” He scrubbed his whiskered chin. “I’m just thinking out loud. Forget what I said.”

Forget what I said.

As if she could forget. Her heart thundered, threatening to burst through her ribs.

Tracker sat up, leaned his head on the back of her seat, and whined.

Grasping her hands in his warm ones, Aiden eased her fingers open, loosening their death grip. His gaze met hers. “All I’m saying is that until we know more about what’s going on, promise me you’ll be careful.”

A chill rippled along her spine, and she shuddered. “Do you think I’m in danger?”

He didn’t respond, but the expression on his handsome face told the truth better than words.

“You don’t have to worry about me.” She picked up the can of bear spray she’d set on the dash. “If anyone suspicious comes within spitting distance, I’ll blast him in the face.”

Her feeble attempt at humor failed, and his face remained stony. “Just be careful.”

She freed her hands from his, unclasped her seatbelt, and grasped the door handle. She didn’t want to leave, dreaded stepping out of his car and entering her empty house. His strong, comforting presence was all that was holding her together. But he had to deal with the remains they’d found in the cave. He was a cop, and he had a job to do. “What happens next?”

“The forensics team is on their way to the park. They’ll scour the cave and search for more bones and other evidence.” He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. “If we’re lucky, we’ll find some clue that will help identify the victim and explain what happened.”

She rested her hand on his thigh. “Promise you’ll keep me informed.” The hard muscles tightened beneath her palm, and a dizzying heat flooded her nether regions. She jerked her hand away, her face on fire, heart pounding. “I know you can’t tell me all the details, but please let me know about the remains.”

His jaw pulsed, and he studied her with shadowed eyes. “Of course.”

“Thank you.” She opened the door and climbed out.

“Don’t forget this.” He reached into the back seat and held out her backpack.

She grasped the strap. “Thanks.”

“Thank you for what you did today. If it weren’t for your insistence that we head to the park to search for Amanda, we wouldn’t have found those bones.”

“Tracker did all the work. He’s the one who found the cave.”

Hearing his name, Tracker stuck his head out of the open back window and woofed.

She petted him. “You were a good boy today, Tracker.”

The dog’s mouth opened in a wide, toothy grin, and he licked her hand, leaving a trail of drool.

She gave him a final pat and stepped back from the vehicle. “See you later, buddy.”

Aiden called from inside the car. “I’ll make sure Detective Breacher knows how helpful you were.”

She grimaced. “Good luck with that.”

He started the engine, and with a quick wave, backed out of her driveway and sped down the street, sirens blaring, lights flashing.

Her body was heavy with exhaustion as she plodded to the front door. Finding the bones was upsetting. The fact the victim was probably a teenage girl was even harder to bear. The victim’s family was waiting for their loved one’s return, not knowing what happened. Now they’d find out their daughter was never coming home.

Not alive.

But at least they’d have closure. Fishing in her pocket for her house keys, she inserted the key in the lock, and stilled. The nerves on the back of her neck tingled with the primal awareness someone was watching. She spun around, scanning the neighborhood.

A red car passed slowly on the street. The driver tooted the horn, and her next-door neighbor waved and steered the car into his driveway. He opened his door and stepped out. “Hey, Candace. How’s it going?”

“Hello, Ron. I’m fine.” The lie slid off her lips. He was a good neighbor, always willing to help if he noticed her struggling with some minor house repair. His wife, Myrna, often brought a plate of fresh-baked cookies over for a treat. “How about you?”

“I’m still on the right side of the ground, so can’t complain.” He chuckled and strode across his lawn to the row of decorative bushes separating the two properties. A frown marred his ruddy face. “A shame about this hedge.”

“Hedge?” She tried to gather her thoughts, to focus on what he was saying, but all she could think about were the bones in the cave. “What about the hedge?”

He pointed to a flattened section of evergreen shrubs. “I noticed the damage a few days ago, and I’ve been meaning to talk to you about it.” He shook his head. “Looks to me like some big animal was trying to make a home here.” Bending over, he picked up a broken branch. “We’re going to have to replant this bush.”

Now he had her attention. Her full attention. “What—” She gulped. “—what sort of animal?”

He shrugged. “Dunno. But whatever it was, it was big. Sure did some damage.”

Her hand fluttered to her pounding heart.

“If you’re okay with going halves, I’ll pick up another few plants on the weekend. Before long, I’ll have this hedge looking as good as new.”

She stared at the flattened and broken bush, her mind racing. Had someone hidden in the bushes and spied on her? Did that explain her unease these past few weeks?

“Candace? Are you okay?”

She jolted, realizing Ron was talking. Inhaling a shaky breath, she forced a smile to her stiff lips. “I’m fine.”

His eyes narrowed. “Are you sure?”

She nodded.

“So, you’re okay with me repairing this shrubbery? It shouldn’t cost too much. I’ll do all the work.”

“Yes. Thank you, Ron. That’s great.”

The frown didn’t leave his face. “Myrna and I are just next door if you need anything. You know that, right?”

“Thank you, Ron. You’re a good neighbor. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Well, let’s hope you never have to find out.” He chuckled. “See you around.” He recrossed the lawn to his car and grabbed two bulging plastic bags from the back seat. With a friendly nod, he juggled the bags and his house keys. Managing to open his front door, he disappeared into his house.

She stood, frozen, studying her surroundings. A frisson of unease chilled her spine.

The neighborhood was quiet—no other traffic, the sidewalk and front lawns empty, no barking dogs, or children playing. At this time of day, most of her neighbors were inside their homes preparing supper, and the kids were doing homework.

The sun had gone down behind the distant snowcapped mountains, and streaks of mauve and crimson filled the sky. The streetlights hadn’t flickered to life yet, and early evening shadows stretched across the lawn. The neighborhood looked peaceful and normal. So why was she unsettled? Her body was strung so tight she feared her muscles would snap.

The tall row of decorative shrubs separating her front lawn from her neighbor’s was filled with shadows. From somewhere inside the tangled bush a branch snapped.

She pressed the palm of her hand over her mouth, cutting off a scream.

Nothing stirred…the leaves didn’t tremble…the bushes didn’t rustle…nothing.

She forced a shaky laugh. Aiden’s warning had set her on edge. She was imagining all sorts of threats where none existed. Finding the bones had am ped up her sense of impending doom, but at least she hadn’t been alone. Aiden had been with her, and she’d leaned on his calm strength. An image of clinging to his chest, kissing him, caressing the soft hair at the back of his neck, rose before her, and her face flamed. Maybe she’d leaned on him a bit too much.

You think?

She fumbled as she twisted the house key in the lock, turned the door handle, opened the door, and stepped inside. Closing the door behind her, she followed her usual ritual and twisted the deadbolt, slid the security chain home, latched the door lock, and tugged on the door to ensure all the locks held. She set the security alarm, and a sense of relief washed over her when it responded with a familiar, reassuring beep.

Hurrying into the living room, she edged the curtain aside, and peered out. The street was quiet. No stranger watched from the bushes. But her heart still pounded, and she couldn’t shake her unease.

She strode back to the front door and rechecked it was securely locked. The alarm showed a steady, reassuring red. Heading to the back door, she ensured all those locks were set. Next, she toured the house, stopping at each window, making certain it was sealed and locked.

Finally able to breathe, she returned to the kitchen and flicked on the overhead light. Turning on the tap, she filled the kettle and set it on the stove. A cup of tea was just what she needed to settle her nerves.

As she waited for the kettle to boil, she stared out the dark kitchen window, unable to ignore the feeling someone was out there watching. Her face, pale and haunted, stared back at her. She shuddered and tugged down the shade covering the window.

For months, she’d been on edge, hyper aware of her surroundings. When the nightly phone calls started, she’d had the locks installed on her doors and windows, and the security system put in. The past few weeks, the sensation she was being watched was so strong she’d started packing mace with her when she left the house.

She grimaced. The mace hadn’t helped the other night. Her attacker still managed to drug her. If it hadn’t been for those students passing by, who knew what would have happened? She rubbed the goose bumps on her arms.

Ever since Charlene had been abducted, Candace had lived on edge, each day filled with a thousand what ifs, weighed down by a dark burden of guilt. Overnight she’d changed from a happy, carefree twelve-year-old to a shadow, filled with the certain knowledge her sister’s abduction was her fault, and her parents wished it was she who’d been taken, and not Charlene.

The man who kidnapped her sister and the other victims was never caught.

The rescued girls described their abductor as tall and broad shouldered, with thick muscles. He had a crescent-shaped scar on his right hand. His hair was long and dark, and he had dark-brown, penetrating eyes, a cruel mouth, and a thick, dark beard.

The police created a composite drawing, and his picture was shown all over the media. A nation-wide manhunt ensued, but somehow, Isaiah eluded capture. To this day, his whereabouts remained a mystery.

Two of the girls had been missing for almost two years; two others had been held captive for six months. Charlene was the most recent girl Isaiah abducted, and the three weeks she was missing felt like an eon to her worried family.

The girls ranged in ages from thirteen to sixteen, and like Charlene, they’d been taken from their bedrooms in the middle of the night. When Candace saw the photo of Amanda Jacobs on the missing person’s poster on the bulletin board at the police station, something about the girl’s appearance twigged, but she hadn’t made the connection.

Not then.

But now that Aiden had pointed it out, the resemblance was impossible to ignore. Amanda Jacobs had long dark hair, and she had blue eyes. Just like Charlene. And Candace. She chewed on her bottom lip.

Five young girls were abducted and abused twenty-two years ago. The same nightmare scenario was playing out again, but the perpetrator couldn’t be Isaiah. According to the Forgotten Five victims, Isaiah was in his early fifties. He’d be an old man now.

The man who’d attacked her the other night was young, and strong and fit with hard muscles. If the assault on her was connected to the current kidnappings and murders, the attacker wasn’t Isaiah. The man who took her sister hadn’t returned to unleash a new wave of terror on the community. He couldn’t have.

The high-pitched whistle of the kettle pierced her dark thoughts, and she switched off the burner, hefted the steaming kettle, and poured boiling water into the teapot. Grabbing the small pill bottle from the shelf above the sink, she twisted open the cap and tapped out two triangular, green pills and popped them into her mouth.

Her heart rate slowed, and her breathing quieted as an instant wave of relief flooded her bloodstream. She’d been on a steady diet of antianxiety pills since she was twelve, but she’d stopped taking them when she started grad school. For the next ten years, she didn’t touch a pill. But ever since she’d found the bloody footprints and encountered the bearded man in the forest, her anxiety had ramped up, and she was back on the pills. She jumped at every sound and constantly looked over her shoulder, fearing a lurking stranger was following her. The violent attack on campus and the nightly phone calls added to her tension.

She poured steaming tea into a mug, added a spoonful of honey, and stirred. The clinking of the spoon against the edge of the ceramic cup was loud in the silent kitchen, and the calming, earthy scent of chamomile filled the room. Holding the mug with both hands, she sipped.

Her cell phone rang, and she choked on a mouthful of hot tea. Her cup fell from her nerveless fingers and shattered on the tile floor. Hot tea and shards of ceramic sprayed across the room. She looked at the wall clock. Her heart jerked.

Her nightly caller! Once again, she’d forgotten to silence the ringer.

The plastic cell phone case vibrated across the counter top as if it were a venomous snake as the phone rang again and again.

The incessant ringing finally stopped, and she released the breath she was holding. Tottering on shaky legs to the counter, she ripped off several sheets of paper towel from the roll under the cupboard and knelt on the floor and mopped at the tea and bits of broken cup.

The phone rang again.

She sagged onto her bottom, uncaring that sticky, warm tea soaked into her pants, and sharp shards of the broken mug dug into her thighs. The anonymous caller phoned night after night, refusing to leave her alone.

Enough!

Tossing the sodden wad of paper towels on the floor, she surged to her feet. Before doubt weakened her resolve, she snatched up the phone and hit the answer button. “What the hell do you want?”

Heavy, labored breathing filled the line.

She closed her eyes and inhaled a shaky breath. “Stop calling me, you jerk. Do you hear me? Stop. Now. Call again, and I’ll go to the police.” She hit the end button and dropped the phone on the counter. A warm rush of affirmation filled her, and she pumped her fist in the air.

Look at that. She’d stood up to the bully and told him where he could get off. Damn straight she had. The counselors were right—being strong and fighting back felt good. Damn good. She sashayed a little dance across the kitchen.

The phone rang.

The screen read Unknown Caller.

Her elation evaporated like mist in the air, and the bluster vanished, leaving her wilted and teary.

So much for bravery.