The First Victim Read online

  She was constantly forgetting to charge the stupid thing and Marisol had warned her on more than one occasion that her absentmindedness would catch up with her. It had tonight.

  She had no choice but to walk the rest of the way into town. Normally, Emily, a seasoned marathon runner, could easily cover the mile or so into Lakeside Acres in mere minutes. But not tonight. Even walking, the uneven road surface and a complete lack of streetlights meant that she’d be lucky to make it without wrenching an ankle.

  She glanced back at the deer, still grazing without a care in the world. “I should have let you die.” The animal appeared unmoved by her empty threat as though he knew exactly how helpless she was at the moment.

  A branch snapped in the darkness, the sound echoing in this isolated place. She whirled around, but there was nothing to see, just thickening shadows. She shivered. “It’s freezing out here.”

  That was a lie, but it was easier to say those words aloud than to admit to herself how afraid she was. She knew better than anyone the dangers that lurked in the woods around Lakeside Acres. She wasn’t just scared. She was terrified.

  When she was a kid, Emily hadn’t thought twice about traveling these roads on foot. She’d walked into town for sleepovers at her best friend Ginny’s, run halfway around the lake to fish off Bailey’s dock and strolled out to the McKinnon’s place on countless summer nights to catch fireflies and roast marshmallows. Back then she’d only had to worry about getting stung by bees when she picked the raspberries that grew wild on the side of the street, or getting sprayed by a skunk she’d caught off guard. The sweet fruit was always worth the risk, and she’d learned at a young age to let the skunks know she was coming by singing as she walked.

  Now of course she knew that beasts more dangerous than bees and skunks lurked in these woods, ready to leap from the shadows and shatter a life.

  Remembering her self-defense training, she faked a self-confident posture and looked around. Not that it did much good. Every class she’d ever taken had given tips on what to do in an empty parking lot or city street. None had ever covered what to do if she found herself stuck on a desolate country road. All of the self-defense products she normally carried—pepper spray, a personal alarm, even her keys—were still in the car. If her car had crashed anywhere else, she wouldn’t have hesitated to go back for them, but here, in Lakeside Acres, she couldn’t overcome her fear that he was there waiting for her. Instead, she stuck to the solid pavement.

  Scooping up a large rock and a sturdy branch, she armed herself before shuffling toward town singing, without much conviction, “Oh What a Beautiful Morning.”

  She didn’t get very far before she heard an automobile approaching from behind. Stumbling off the road, she hid behind the thick trunk of an oak tree, its rough bark scraping her palm as she leaned into it. The hammering of her heart almost drowned out the sound of the car as it pulled closer.

  “Drive past. Drive past. Drive past.” Tightening her grip on the stone and stick, she whispered the wish, painfully aware of how vulnerable and alone she was.

  The car’s headlights slashed through the night, reaching for her. She held her breath, as though that would make her invisible.

  Suddenly the car slammed to a stop just past the spot where her car had gone off the road. A tall man, his face silhouetted in the darkness, leaped out of the front passenger seat. Almost instantly the thin ray of a flashlight cut through the trees, landing on her car.

  She didn’t dare move, afraid that any sound she made would alert him to her presence. As though he somehow sensed she was there, the shadowy figure swung toward her, the beam of light arcing through the darkness like an arrow aimed at a bull’s-eye.

  A jolt of fright turned her legs to mush, rooting her to the spot. He was so big. There was no way she could outrun him. Not here. Not now. Not again. She began to tremble uncontrollably as the familiar panic seeped into her, chilling her blood.

  “Em? Em, is that you?”

  Running, he crashed through the night, coming right at her.

  She raised her primitive weapons. Shouting in an authoritative tone honed by years of self-defense classes, she ordered, “Go away! Get away from me!”

  To her surprise, he stopped in his tracks. Had she really managed to scare him off? A surge of hope warmed and strengthened her.

  Chuckling, he started moving toward her again.

  “Go away! I mean it!”

  “Or what, Em? You’re going to split my skull open? You already did that when we were ten.”

  It took her another long second to make sense of what was happening. The man closing the gap between them was no stranger looking to hurt her. It was Bailey.

  Suddenly exhausted, she dropped the rock and branch to the ground.

  “Are you hurt, Em?” He swept the flashlight’s beam over her.

  Blinking against the light, she held up a hand to shield her eyes as she shook her head, too overcome to speak. She wasn’t sure if she was more relieved or embarrassed. What a fool she must look like, cowering in the darkness. She blinked back tears.

  “Sure you’re okay?”

  “There was a deer. I lost control of my car and…” She trailed off before she added and I lost my mind.

  “Okay. No harm done. We’ll give you a ride. I’ll send a tow truck out tomorrow.” There was something off in Bailey’s voice, like he was holding something back. It was the same tone he’d used when they were kids and he had a secret to share. She recognized the tenor, even though the pitch had deepened and gotten huskier with age. Part of her wanted to ask what was bothering him, but the other part of her was unwilling. She told herself she no longer cared about Bailey O’Neil’s problems. It was better to believe that lie, than to engage in some sort of intimate sharing. She may have loved him when they were kids, and part of her still loved him, but she’d realized long ago they could never have a future together.

  Holding out his hand, he offered, “Come on, I’ll get you in my car and then get your stuff.”

  She eyed his outstretched palm warily before tentatively taking it in her own. He felt warm and solid. For the first time since the phone call, she felt grounded. He led her back onto the road and toward the waiting automobile.

  As she drew nearer she realized it was a squad car. A quick glance at Bailey revealed that he wasn’t in his deputy’s uniform, which meant that he was off duty.

  “I’ve got to make a quick stop, but then I’ll take you straight to the hospital.”

  Emily snatched her hand out of his as though she’d just been burned. “I don’t want to go to the hospital.”

  She knew she was in for a fight from the familiar way he put his hands on his hips as he turned to face her. Lifting her chin defiantly, she had to do her best to disguise her shock when she saw Bailey’s face illuminated in the harsh glare of the headlight. He looked tired and beaten. He hadn’t looked this old two years ago when she’d seen him at her mother’s funeral. For a brief moment she wondered what had happened to him.

  “Don’t be like this, Em. Not tonight.”

  “Don’t be like what, Bailey? Difficult?”

  Bailey’s only response was to sigh.

  “Where’s Laurie?” she asked, reminding him of the reason she’d come home.

  “I wasn’t sure when you’d get here, so we just dropped her off at her friend Anna’s house. Do you want to go there instead?”

  She hesitated. While part of her was eager to see her little sister, she also knew she was too shaken up to offer the girl much comfort. She needed to get her head straight so that she could be the support Laurie needed.

  “I want to go to The Garden Gate.”

  “But—”

  She wasn’t about to discuss why she didn’t want to see her sister or father. She knew she was being abrasive but it was necessary to get her point across. “I want to go to The Gate.”

  Bailey, never one to accept defeat easily, tried again. “Laurie gave me the keys to you
r home.”

  “It’s not my home!” Emily shouted.

  Raising his hands in surrender, Bailey stalked toward the car. “Fine. Have it your way. The Garden Gate.” Tearing open the rear door of the squad car, he motioned for her to climb inside. She scrambled in, sliding across the seat.

  Addressing the driver, he said, “Williams, this is Emily Wright. I’m going to get her stuff out of her car and then we’re taking her to The Garden Gate.”

  “Yessir.”

  Bailey slammed Emily’s door shut and marched in the direction of her car, leaving her alone with the young man behind the wheel. Metal mesh, like bars on a cage, separated them. Realizing she was locked in a cage, the uneasiness that had been banished when Bailey had taken her hand, flooded back through her.

  She was trapped. Again. Her throat constricted as though all of the air had been sucked out of the car. Panic rising, she reached for the door handle, but couldn’t find one.

  She had to get out. Get free. Get air. She looked out the window, searching for a glimpse of Bailey, but he was nowhere in sight.

  “I imagine you had quite a scare,” the driver said.

  His voice disrupted the flow of her mounting hysteria, jolting her out of the frantic imaginings that were overriding her self-control. Calm, cool and collected, she reminded herself. Her breathing and heartbeat slowed in response and while she could still feel the adrenaline pumping through her, she was once again able to rein in her frightened thoughts and emotions.

  “My guess is a woman alone would find these dark woods to be frightening.” The man Bailey had called Williams continued, never taking his gaze off her. “But you’ve got nothing to worry about. Lakeside Acres is a safe community.”

  Forcing herself to speak around the knot of apprehension that had lodged in her throat, she said, “Have you lived in Lakeside Acres long?”

  “A little under a year. You live in New York City, right?” He made eye contact with her in the rearview mirror of the car.

  A chill slipped down her spine. How did he know where she lived? She nervously looked out the window for Bailey.

  Smiling, as though amused by her reaction, Williams told her, “Drawbacks of a small town. Everyone knows everything about everybody.”

  She relaxed again. Of course he was right. No doubt the town’s grapevine had been working overtime since her father’s accident. He probably knew her whole life story, even the worst part. Everyone in town did.

  Opening the door, startling her, Bailey tossed her overnight bag and purse on the seat beside her. Without a word, he climbed into the front. Williams put the car into gear and started driving.

  It was unsettling to sit in the backseat of the police car, metal mesh separating her from the two men in front. It made her nervous, like she’d done something wrong, like she was a criminal. The car smelled faintly of alcohol and she imagined they’d tossed a drunk in the back before they’d picked her up.

  Within minutes they arrived at The Garden Gate Bed & Breakfast. Bailey got out, grabbed her bags and extended a hand to help her disembark.

  Slipping her fingers into Bailey’s palm, she allowed him to pull her from the car. They both swayed unsteadily on the cobblestone driveway of the B&B. They walked hand-in-hand around the side of the house, toward the private quarters of the owner, Mark Castle.

  “You’re sure this is what you want?”

  She nodded, heart hammering. She felt light-headed. She’d told herself it was because she’d been spooked by the accident and her adrenaline was running wild, but the truth was, her hormones had gone into overdrive the moment she set eyes on her childhood crush. He was still ridiculously good-looking; his football career had never marred his straight nose or high cheekbones. She doubted that he still played football, but if the way his clothes fit were any indication, he still worked out.

  Bailey stopped halfway down the well-lit garden path and out of sight of Williams. He dropped her bag and purse. “You look good, Em.” His heavy-lidded gaze lingered appreciatively on the top button of her blouse. He caught a handful of her hair that fell to her shoulders and examined the silky strands. “So soft.”

  Before she knew what was happening, he cupped her face in his palms, tilting back her chin.

  Alarm bells sounded in her head, but she didn’t tell him to stop.

  He covered her mouth with his. It was nothing like she’d always imagined it would be. His breath smelled of alcohol. She gasped her surprise, which allowed his tongue to slip into her mouth. He tasted like scotch.

  He’d been drinking. That’s why he was doing something so out of character.

  She shoved at his rock-hard shoulders, trying to push him away, but he didn’t budge. Slanting his head, he kissed her more deeply. She twisted her chin free of his grip, causing his lips to slide from her mouth to her ear, his nighttime stubble scraping the exposed flesh of her cheek. He nipped the tender soft tissue of her earlobe, and her knees almost buckled.

  “Bailey…” She wasn’t sure if she was encouraging him, or protesting. The rational part of her knew they should end this heady foolishness before it got out of hand, but…

  He didn’t seem to be having any such second thoughts. His hands dipped to her hips, weakening her resolve further.

  “Bailey, stop!” She was breathless, her voice reedy and thin, made weak by desire.

  “Don’t want to be alone,” he muttered into her shoulder, his tone ragged, sounding like he was on the verge of tears. He yanked her hips into his.

  A door creaking open separated them. Jumping away from her, Bailey stumbled into the shadows without a word, leaving Emily to face Mark Castle alone.

  Ginny’s father squinted out into the darkness, just like he had when at fourteen, she and Ginny had come tearing up the path at the last possible minute before breaking curfew. “That you, Emily?”

  “It’s me, Mr. Castle.”

  “What are you doing out there all alone? Come on in.”

  Trying desperately to regain some semblance of composure, she took her time bending down to pick up her overnight bag. The night air cooling her heated cheeks, she forced herself to breathe normally.

  Mark walked out to meet her. “Welcome home, Emily.”

  Ho-ly shit. Emily Wright was back in town.

  Everyone at the diner was talking about it. Everyone except him. He was keeping his mouth shut and soaking it all in.

  The people who had been around fifteen years earlier were either reminiscing about those dark days, or explaining the story about the poor Wright girl to those who had moved to town since.

  Emily Wright.

  Just the thought of her was enough to get him so turned on he squirmed in his seat. She was here. The plan had worked. It was a heady sensation, making him feel drunk with power.

  She was in his playground now, no longer protected by the big, bad city she liked to call home.

  It was time to toy with her. They’d play by his rules. This was going to be fun.

  Despite the fact that the dinner crowd lingered over the remains of their meals, unable to get their fill of gossip, he left the diner.

  It was a cool night, but he didn’t notice. He strolled over to The Garden Gate, doing his best to look nonchalant. No need to draw attention to himself. Once he got there, he hid in the shadows at the edge of the property, wondering what room Mark had put her in.

  The week before he’d double-checked the fire-escape ladder that led to the second floor. It was sturdy enough to hold both his weight and that of the Wright girl. He’d spent some time perfecting his fireman’s carry, just to make sure that when the time came to take her, he’d have no problems.

  No lights were on in any of the second-floor guest bedrooms. Either she’d already turned in for the night, or she was staying in the Primrose Suite on the main floor.

  It took all of his self-control not to creep up to the window and peek inside. He could probably do it without getting caught.

  He took a few steps
toward the B&B before logic won out, stopping him in his tracks. Playing Peeping Tom was not part of the plan.

  Besides, it was still early. Chances were she wasn’t even in her room yet. She was probably in Mark’s private quarters. Right now Mark could be talking to her, maybe even touching her.

  He clenched his fists at the thought. Jamming his hands into his pockets, he found one of his favorite souvenirs. Its silky softness soothed him as it slipped through his fingers. Relaxing a little, he remembered that this was his game.

  He pulled a girl’s ponytail out of his pocket, and rubbed it against his cheek, before holding it under his nose to inhale the sweet, innocent scent.

  Emily Wright would be his. She’d belong to him, the centerpiece of his collection. He’d have her. Soon.

  Chapter 3

  Despite the warm milk Mark had insisted she drink, Emily was not falling asleep. She hadn’t even gotten undressed, except to take off her shoes. Fully clothed, she stretched out on the lavender duvet that covered the antique four-post bed. All night she’d lain on top of the covers, thinking.

  She worried about leaving Marisol all alone to handle the Armstrong account. The ad campaign for Armstrong Security’s launch for their line of personal protection products needed to make a big splash to be considered a success.

  It was easier to focus on work, than to think about the mess her personal life had suddenly become.

  Tomorrow she’d have to face Laurie. The idea filled her with both excitement and trepidation. She was thrilled to be getting the chance to see her little sister, but she was nervous about the welcome she might receive. After all, she hadn’t seen her sibling in two years. There was no telling what sort of poison her father might have fed the impressionable adolescent in that time. For all Emily knew, Laurie might hate her.

  Not that Emily would blame her. She had, after all, practically abandoned her. How could Emily ever explain why she couldn’t be here? In this town? In that house?

  Despite her attempts not to think about him, Emily’s thoughts drifted again and again to her father. He was the reason she had left. He was the reason she was here, back in this place she hated. This place scared her so much that she was clutching her personal arsenal of Armstrong Security products in sweaty palms, and twitching nervously every time an owl hooted or a branch brushed against the window of the room.