Mike narrowed his gaze. “Was the aunt happy enough to get rid of her to do something that would ensure she disappeared?”
Rylan wrinkled his nose. During the interview with Teresa he’d been unnerved by the woman’s shrill aggression. He remembered thinking he wouldn’t blame poor Angel for running away, swiftly followed by a dark concern that maybe Angel hadn’t left Heron.
At least not alive.
“The sheriff didn’t think so, but he did at least list Angel as a missing person,” Rylan said. “To be honest, he was as relieved as Teresa to have the girl out of his jurisdiction.”
“He considered her a troublemaker?”
Rylan shrugged. “She liked to party.”
“What about you?” Mike abruptly demanded.
“Me?”
“What was your impression of Teresa Graham?”
“From what little I knew about her, I didn’t like her. Not just because she obviously didn’t give a crap about her niece, but I had friends who had her as a babysitter over the years. They told me horror stories.”
“What sort of horror stories?”
Rylan gave a lift of his shoulder. “About being locked in barns and hit with a switch. I even heard that she put kids in an old well.”
Mike gave a sudden grunt. “That’s right. I remember those rumors. It was pretty bad.” He shook his head. “No authorities tried to shut her down?”
“Who listened to kids back then?” Rylan demanded.
“True.” A grim emotion briefly clenched Mike’s features and Rylan felt a pang of sympathy.
Everyone in town knew that Mike’s dad used to beat the shit out of him, but no one actually stepped in to help him.
“There’s more,” Rylan said, pulling the other man out of his dark place. “When Teresa was in the office I could smell alcohol on her breath.”
Mike polished off his beer before turning in his seat to toss the bottle in a trash can next to the fridge. Then he turned back to Rylan, the ghost from his past once again buried.
“Do you think she might have done something to Angel?” he asked Rylan.
Rylan took time to think through his answer. It would be easy to leap to the conclusion that the older woman was responsible. She was a pathetic excuse of a human being who’d clearly tormented young children.
But right now he couldn’t let his opinion of the woman cloud his memory. They had to figure out the truth.
What’d happened to Angel Harper?
“I think she would be capable of making the young girl’s life a misery. Or even kicking her out of her house. But murder . . .” He let his words trail away with a shake of his head.
Chapter Sixteen
Rylan met Mike’s searching gaze. “You don’t think she could have killed her?” the lawman pressed.
“She might accidentally have hurt her and disposed of the body,” Rylan conceded. “But cold-blooded murder?” He gave another shake of his head. “No.”
Mike tapped his finger on the table, his eyes distant as he tried to imagine how a young girl’s skull ended up in a muddy field over a decade later.
Rylan waited, allowing the sheriff to speak.
“What about suicide?” the lawman asked.
Rylan considered the question before giving a lift of his hands. “I suppose she could have thrown herself in the river, but there was no note left behind.”
Mike shoved his hands through his hair. “So accident, suicide, or murder. All three are possible.”
Rylan’s gut twisted. They were both trying to cling to logic. It was vital to keep an open mind when working a case. But inside, they both knew it was murder.
The fact that there was a body of a young woman floating in the same field made it almost a certainty.
“You don’t have a cause of death?” Rylan asked.
“Not yet.” Mike grimaced. “And with just a skull it’s doubtful we’ll get many answers.”
Rylan held the man’s gaze. “I have a few calls I can make.”
Mike’s lips tightened before he gave a shrug. “Go ahead. Right now I’m willing to take any help I can get.”
“I—” Rylan’s words were cut short as a horrifying thought seared through his brain. “Shit.”
Mike’s eyes darted around, as if he was looking for a potential threat.
“What is it?”
“Do you have the date that Angel disappeared?” Rylan demanded, his voice tense.
“I can bring up the official missing person report.” Rising to his feet, Mike moved into his makeshift office and grabbed his laptop off the desk. Then, returning to the kitchen, he sat down and fired it up. “Why?”
“A hunch.”
Thankfully, Mike didn’t feel the need to be a jerk. Instead he logged into his account and pulled up the file on Angel Harper.
“Here.” He read from the screen. “November eleventh.”
An ugly stab of regret sliced through Rylan’s heart. “Halloween.”
Mike lifted his gaze, staring at Rylan in confusion. “What about Halloween?”
Rylan planted his hands on the table and shoved himself to his feet. A toxic combination of regret, fear, and fury blasted through him.
The memory of a young, vulnerable Jaci standing in the old sheriff’s office, her face pale and her fingers clutched around the gold necklace, seared through his mind.
God. There’d been a killer stalking her and he’d patted her on her head and sent her on her away. He’d not only put her life in danger, but he’d allowed a potential serial killer to continue his murderous game.
If something happened to her, he’d have no one to blame but himself.
“Cooper.” Mike interrupted his dark thoughts. “What’s going on?”
“That’s when Jaci found the first locket on her porch,” he said, turning to face the lawman.
“You’re sure?”
“Yeah.” Rylan clenched his hands, bleakly battling to contain his guilt. “I tried to convince her that it was some sort of Halloween hoax that was meant to scare her. I told her to throw it away and forget about it.” A shudder shook through his body. “God.”
Mike’s jaw hardened, but he understood that now wasn’t the time to vent his frustration at the knowledge Rylan had allowed a killer to slip through his fingers.
“Did Jaci have any connections to Teresa Graham?” he instead demanded.
Rylan considered the question. He knew for a fact that Jaci’s grandparents never used a babysitter. After the tragic loss of their son, they’d been determined to spend every possible minute with their only grandchild. At least until she went off to college. And the Patterson family wasn’t related to the Grahams.
“I don’t think so.”
Mike glanced back down at the computer screen where he’d pulled up the missing person report for Angel Harper.
“I know Teresa was widowed when she was young,” he finally said. “Did she have a man she was seeing?”
Rylan gave a sharp shake of his head. “Not that I know of,” he told his companion. “In fact, I had a distinct impression that she didn’t like men very much. She told the sheriff several times that she blamed the local boys for all of Angel’s troubles, and that she probably ran away because she was being pestered by unwanted attention.”
Mike arched a brow. “Did Teresa say if Angel was dating anyone in particular?”
“She was dating a lot of boys,” Rylan dryly admitted, his muscles clenching as he suddenly recalled something the aunt had told them. “But the night before she disappeared, she’d been at a party with Christopher Hamilton.”
Mike cursed. “Why am I not surprised?”
He was asleep in his bed when the memories returned.
He twitched and moaned, struggling to squash them. He didn’t want to endure the horror. Not when he’d just rediscovered his beautiful muse.
But perhaps it was because of Jaci that he was suddenly forced to relive his most painful humiliation. She was his greatest joy,
after all. And everything came with a cost.
Releasing a resigned sigh, he conceded defeat, allowing himself to be sucked into the past.
It was dark. Terrifyingly dark, with the stench of his own feces filling the air. He’d shit his pants when the hands had hit him in the middle of his back and pushed him into the abandoned well. It hadn’t just been his fear of the shadows. Or the terrifying eight-foot drop. Or even the knowledge that he didn’t have the strength to climb out of the pit.
It’d been the mocking laughter of the girl he’d been so anxious to impress.
Angel . . .
He’d thought she might actually be a creature from the heavens when he’d first seen her. The long, fiery hair. The eyes that’d promised a sensual pleasure he’d longed to experience.
The soft, soft skin that his fingers itched to explore.
Angel had been the one who’d invited him to the house after they’d been talking during detention. In a rare moment of weakness, he’d revealed that he’d once been placed in the care of Teresa Graham. And how terrifying it’d been for him to be left in the abandoned well for hours at a time. Angel told him she understood. That she’d also been tortured by her nasty, embittered aunt. And that she wanted to play a trick on the woman they both hated.
He’d naively believed her.
But instead of finding a way to punish Teresa Graham, Angel had instead lured him toward the well at the back of the house. She’d smiled and flirted, and arched her back so her big tits had pressed against her shirt.
Like a Pied Piper for horny boys.
He’d eagerly rushed to stand at her side. And then she’d shoved him over the edge.
Twisting and turning on his mattress, he forced away the shame he’d endured. Far better to remember the night he’d followed the treacherous bitch through the woods.
He’d seen her at the party, and even watched as she’d slipped away with Christopher Hamilton to have sex in the bushes. Whore. As if the rich boy was ever going to give her more than a quickie in the mud.
Following behind her, he waited until she was walking home along the high bluff beside the river before he’d struck.
He’d tackled her from behind, wrapping his fingers around her neck as he’d squeezed the life from her.
Over the years, he’d read about serial killers. He’d always known he had the capacity to murder another person. Hell, he’d spent countless hours fantasizing about doing the deed.
But unlike the twisted perverts who took joy in watching the life leach from the body of their victim, he’d pressed Angel’s face into the mud where it belonged. He had no desire to soil himself by raping her, or even masturbating, while she screamed for help.
This was retribution.
She was a filthy pig that deserved to be punished. So that’s what he did. It was only when he was digging a hole in the levee to hide the body that he’d caught sight of her golden locket.
A slut like Angel didn’t deserve the pretty necklace. Even if it was a cheap imitation.
But he did know of one girl who did.
A sweet, kind girl who never treated boys like dirt. And certainly never thought she was better than everyone else.
Driven by an impulse he didn’t fully comprehend, he’d yanked the necklace from around Angel’s neck. He stared at the dull gold in the moonlight. It wasn’t enough. He needed something . . . personal. A piece of Angel.
How better to prove his triumph over her?
Pulling out his knife, he’d tried to cut a lock of hair that was wrapped in a ribbon near her temple. His hands had slipped and the blade had sliced through the tender skin of her scalp, allowing blood to flow freely down the side of her face. It’d coated her hair and ribbon with a ruby-red color that had made his heart leap.
Yes. It was perfect.
Wrapping the bloody lock of hair and ribbon in the locket, he’d left Angel to rot in the mud, and headed down the levee. Once he reached Jaci Patterson’s house, he’d snuck to the front porch and placed the locket on the swing. Then he’d hidden in a spot across the road and waited.
He didn’t know how much time had passed, but eventually Jaci had returned home. The early afternoon sunlight had allowed him to see the confusion on her pretty face as she’d discovered his gift, swiftly followed by horror as her fingers had been stained red from the blood of his sacrifice.
It’d been glorious.
The arousal that’d been absent while he’d strangled Angel had hit with the force of a tsunami. He’d gripped his hard-on, stroking as Jaci had stumbled backward, her gaze darting around as she sensed that he was watching from the shadows.
Then, her scream had sliced through the air and he’d released his seed in a flood of pure bliss.
That had been the beginning.
And now the end was coming.
But first he needed one last sacrifice.
And a very special locket.
Chapter Seventeen
Jaci fell asleep on the couch.
It wasn’t that she was waiting for Rylan to return. Certainly that’s what she told herself. It was just that she hadn’t slept well the night before.
But when she’d heard the soft knock on the front door, she hadn’t hesitated to let Rylan in. She hadn’t even protested when he’d urged her into the bedroom so they could crawl into the double bed and fall into a deep sleep.
Feeling oddly refreshed when her alarm went off well before dawn, she’d cracked open her eyes and studied the face that was only inches from hers.
In the shadows she could make out the strong lines of his features, and his tousled hair. His jaw had a night’s growth of whiskers, and his upper torso was bare. She wanted nothing more than to snuggle against his broad chest and forget her troubles.
Unfortunately, she had people who depended on her.
They especially depended on her pastries.
Slipping out of the bed, she took a quick shower and pulled on a pair of heavy leggings and a comfy sweater. Then, heading into the kitchen, she plunged into her morning routine.
Pretending that she wasn’t keenly aware of the gorgeous male who was sleeping in her bed, she baked her muffins and a batch of lemon tarts. She was placing them in her heated trays when Rylan strolled into the kitchen.
Her heart missed a beat as he moved across the floor, bending his head to place a soft kiss on her lips. His hair was damp, revealing that he’d taken a shower, the scent of her soap clinging to his skin.
She shivered as the image of sharing a shower with this man burned through her mind. Their naked bodies pressed together as the warm water glided over them.
With a shake of her head, she stepped back. Who knew she had such a vivid imagination?
A faint smile touched his lips, almost as if he could read her mind. God forbid.
“I’ll carry the trays if you get the door,” he said.
She didn’t bother to argue. Instead she opened the door for the dogs—she’d let them out when she first crawled out of bed—and pulled on her boots. The rain had stopped sometime during the night, but it was still muddy.
After she waited for Rylan to step into his boots, they headed out the door and around to the Jeep.
Rylan put the trays in the back while Jaci started the engine and buckled herself in. She waited for Rylan to take the seat next to her before she put the Jeep in gear and slowly started down her drive.
She crept forward at a snail’s pace, doing her best to avoid the deep ruts caused by Andrew’s tractor.
“Are you going to tell me why Mike called you last night?” She asked the question that had been plaguing her since he’d so abruptly left.
He took his time answering.
“It’s not been made public yet, but the skull was identified,” he finally said.
She sucked in a sharp breath, her stomach churning. “Was it someone local?”
“Angel Harper.”
Jaci’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel as the Jeep splashed throu
gh a deep puddle. Once the rains ended she was going to have to have the driveway graded and a new layer of gravel put down.
“I don’t think she’s from Heron. . . .” Her words trailed away as a faint memory niggled in the back of her mind. “Wait. Was she the girl who ran away?”
“That was the theory,” Rylan said.
“Oh my God. The skull belonged to Angel?” she said, trying to wrap her brain around the thought.
She hadn’t known Angel well, but she remembered her as a vivid, brash girl who’d loved creating disturbances and attracting attention.
It seemed impossible to think of her bright light snuffed out.
“Yes,” Rylan said in a grim tone.
Jaci pulled out of the driveway and onto the road that would lead to the highway. She instinctively turned to take the long way around.
She wasn’t ready to drive past the Johnson field. Especially now that they could put a name to the skull. It was horrifying to think Angel had been buried just a couple of miles from her backyard.
“Did she fall in the river and drown?” she demanded.
“There’s no cause of death yet.”
She grimaced, once again struck by the sheer “wrongness” of Angel being reduced to a bleak skull stuck in the mud.
“How awful,” she breathed.
“What did you know about her?”
“Not much,” she said, trying to remember if she’d ever actually talked to the girl. She couldn’t think of sharing a conversation. “She was younger than me. And I don’t think she went to school here for very long.”
“Did she have any enemies?”
Hmm. It was impossible to go through high school without at least some drama. And she seemed to recall that Angel had gotten into a fistfight with another girl shortly after she’d moved to town. But the two had made up and seemed to be BFFs after the skirmish.
“Not that I know of.” She leaned forward, peering at the sky, which was lightening to a deep lavender as dawn approached. Could it be that they would actually have a day without rain? “She seemed popular,” she continued, her lips twisting. “Especially with the boys.”