“He would have drugged her and left her tied up someplace,” she said. “He wouldn’t have made the call close to her. He knew we’d track him.” Because he knew every move they made. Every move.
Sam opened her eyes and saw only darkness. Thick, pitch black. Her head pounded and nausea rolled in her belly. She tried to move but her hands were bound, tied behind her back. She sat in a wooden chair that was hard, with a high back. Her ankles were tied to the chair legs. The ropes were so tight that she could feel the dampness of her blood.
“H-hello?” Her voice came out as a rasp. Weak. No, she would not be weak. “Who’s there?” He had to be there. Watching her. Getting off on her fear.
Don’t show fear.
Monica had said that once. She’d been talking to the agents about what to do in a worst-case situation.
Oh, God, this is worst case. Trapped. Isolated. He’s going to kill me.
Monica knew killers. She knew how to handle them. If she were here, she wouldn’t be panicking, with terror nearly choking her. She’d be calling out to the killer, taunting him.
Staying in control.
Sam took another breath. A stale taste filled her mouth and that nausea was still rising in her throat. “Come out, bastard!” Yelling made her head hurt more. Dammit, what had he injected her with? How long had she been out?
Her eyes jerked to the left. The right. Can’t see anything. The familiar weight of her glasses was missing. Shit. Even if the lights were on, she wouldn’t be able to see much.
Why had he taken her? What did the guy want? She’d read the profile Monica faxed to Hyde. The guy tortured his victims by making them face their worst fears.
But there wasn’t any way for him to know what scared her. He didn’t know her.
And then she heard it. Sam froze. The faintest of sounds. Not too close, but it was…
The gentle lapping of water.
Oh, Jesus. No, no, he couldn’t know…
“Are you there? Are you there?” Sam shouted.
That lapping filled her ears, and Sam choked back a scream.
“Mrs. Kennedy, this is Monica Davenport with the SSD.” Her fingers curled lightly over the phone. Behind her, the sheriff’s office buzzed with activity. “I’m calling about your daughter Samantha.”
A faint hum over the line, then, “Monica, did you say? Ah, Sam’s friend. You two work together.” A flowing, cultured voice. Sam’s parents were wealthy, old money. Not that Sam appeared to ever touch their money. Why had Sam joined the Bureau? Monica had been given no choice—once the monsters got inside, she couldn’t get them out. But Sam—why had she traded the glitter for the grit?
Had she joined to save lives? Only to lose her own?
Monica swallowed. “Mrs. Kennedy, this is going to seem like an odd question, but I need to know, has Sam ever been involved in any sort of serious accident?”
“Wh-what?”
“Does she have any phobias?” Just tell me no. Tell me Sam is perfectly normal. No, better than normal. Nothing scares her.
“Sam doesn’t like the water.”
Monica’s heart slammed into her ribs. “Why?” Cold, brittle.
Silence. Then, “Why are you calling me, Ms. Davenport?” Distant now, when there’d been warmth in her voice moments before. “Where’s Sam?”
Monica glanced over at Luke. He’d just put a picture of Sam up on their crime board. Right next to the bloody image of Patricia Moffett and the still features of Laura Billings.
“Please tell me why she doesn’t like the water.” Find out first. The parents break when they hear the news about their kids.
A quick gasp. “S-something’s happened to my baby?”
No lies. Not about another agent. “She’s missing. We’re working a case and… she’s missing.”
Some people thought you couldn’t hear pain, but you could. Monica heard it loud and clear in the stark silence that came across that phone line. She cleared her throat. “This is very important. I need to know why she’s scared of water.”
“Sh-she was… eight. At our cabin. S-summer v-vacation…”
Keep talking. The grief was there. Whispering through the words. Hold together, just a few more moments. A patrol car was on the way to the Kennedy home. Hyde wanted a guard with the family because he wasn’t sure what the killer might do.
Monica knew the family wasn’t in danger, but she didn’t want the mother left alone. Not with this kind of grief.
“W-walking on the-the pier. The wood was old, gave way—” And her words gave way to sobs. “We couldn’t get her out. My baby—my baby wasn’t breathing when we finally pulled her from the—the water.”
Darkness. Water. All around. Closing in. No air. No light.
What scares you?
Monica swallowed over the lump in her throat. A lump that threatened to choke her. “Has anything else ever happened to Sam? Any car accidents? Any other—”
“Just… the water. She doesn’t swim now…”
A bell pealed in the background.
“S-someone’s here.…” Confusion. A numbed voice.
“It should be a police officer. He’s there to explain.” What? That a twisted freak had her daughter? “He’ll tell you what you need to know.”
“F-find my baby.…”
“I will.” But would she find her alive?
Hold on, Sam.
Monica ended the call. Luke stood in front of her. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” Her control would hold.
He crept closer. “You look like you’re about to break apart.” His fingers smoothed down her arm, a hot touch that warmed her cold flesh.
For just a moment, she wanted to lean in to him. To steal some of his strength. That tempting warmth.
She always felt so cold. Like the bodies she found so often. Ice cold.
If she could just hold on to Luke for a few moments and take that warmth for herself.…
But then she’d be weak. The ice would break, chip away, and what if he saw that underneath the protective cover, she was weak? Weak and scared.
Her gaze scanned the room. If she broke here, with him, they’d all see.
And no, she wouldn’t be weak.
“Monica.” His eyes were so intent. “We’re going to find her.”
I was such a bitch to her, Luke. Such a bitch. She wanted to be my friend. She was always talking to me, asking me to lunch, but I froze her out.