Static interrupted him, and it was the last he heard from her. After a few minutes, he gave up trying to reach her, and when he ascended the stairs again, he found his bed empty. Breathing a sigh of relief, he locked the door to his bedroom for the first time since Olivia died.
He was exhausted, but sleep eluded him until just before dawn.
On the south side of Windansea, he waited, crouched in the shadows. He’d seen the girl before and considered taking her. What he’d just witnessed through the ocean-facing window of Ben Fortune’s bedroom had clinched it for him.
He prided himself in being calculated in his selections. Only when he disassociated himself from the act, and the victim, did he feel satisfied by the outcome. He’d learned to release his twisted needs with strangers after that initial, near-fatal mistake.
Choosing a woman he knew, even in passing, was risky; choosing one with a connection to Ben, even more so. Emotions were tricky, sticky things that sullied this dark business. He liked to kill clean.
He took several deep breaths, trying to calm the beast that lurked within him. It wanted to grab the girl and tear out her throat. Hold her down while she struggled to break free. Wipe the taste of Ben from her lips as she took her last breath.
In the chill of predawn, he was far from cold. He was sweating, panting, raging. Bloodlust burned inside him, hot and bright.
After that first, grievous error, which had almost precipitated his downfall, he’d been afraid to strike again. A year had gone by. He’d planned, deliberated, waited. And finally, when the perfect opportunity presented itself, he’d leapt upon the female offender and wrung the life from her malformed body.
The memory made his mouth water.
She’d been nothing to him, nothing to anyone. She was just another pretty face, little more than a sexual plaything, and that had infuriated him. God, how he hated her kind, and relished making one pay for the transgressions of all.
A nameless sacrifice would be a better candidate than the girl who had just left Ben’s bedroom, eyes flashing with anger, curly hair flying around her tearstained face.
But she was right there in front of him and he couldn’t deny himself the pleasure.
Just before dusk, Carly went to look for James at the same place she’d seen him last.
Across Windansea Beach, the sun dipped low into the Pacific, casting shimmering gold over that tumultuous expanse. The waves were choppy, no good for surfing, so her dad had settled into his leather chair with one of his boring philosophy books. He was such a nerd.
He let her go out under the pretext of jogging, a sport she used to enjoy. She was going to take it up again, she decided, putting in a good sprint to get there. She’d have to sprint back if she wanted to arrive home in time to avoid suspicion.
While she waited, leaning back against the dark gray stone, she sifted sand through her fingers, letting her mind drift back to the last time she was here, and what she’d been doing. Or about to do. Moaning in frustration, she closed her eyes, wishing she could make a tiny little cut, just a swift, sweet nick, to take the edge off.
“I thought I told you not to come here.”
Her eyes popped open. Again, she’d neither seen nor heard his approach. In the shadow of the rocks at sunset, there was enough light to see that she hadn’t exaggerated his appeal in her mental picture of him. He was tall, but not gangly enough to be an awkward jumble of knees and elbows like some boys his age. In the last rays of the sun, his brown hair glinted like bronze, and she saw that his eyes were a striking dark blue.
“You don’t own the beach,” she replied sulkily, wondering why her heart was doing double-time.
“I don’t want your blood on my sand.”
“Do I look like I’m bleeding?” She raised her hands to show him that they were empty, not realizing until then that she held fistfuls of sand. “You’re just disappointed that I haven’t taken off my shirt.”
“No,” he said, drawing out the word. “I don’t like seeing you hurt yourself.”
“Why do you care?”
“I don’t know,” he replied, looking out at the last sliver of sun.
“I can’t do it anymore anyway. My dad found out.”
“Good.”
She squinted up at him. “Whose side are you on?”
“Mine. Why are you here?”
She brushed sand from her hands. “I need your help.”
That got his attention. He sank down beside her, intrigued. “With what?”
She felt her face grow warm and was glad for the approaching darkness. “I told my dad you were my boyfriend.”
His blue eyes narrowed. “Why would you do that?”
“I needed an excuse for sneaking out the other night.”
“Jesus,” he said, running a hand through his hair. It was short, but kind of thick and wild, as if he cut it himself. “Is he going to kill me?”
“I don’t think so. I told him your name and stuff, so I wanted to know if you’d go along with it.”
“Go along with what?”
“With pretending to be my boyfriend,” she said, exasperated.
“Why?”
Carly had pictured him jumping at the chance to play her knight in shining armor, not asking twenty questions. “Why should you help me, you mean?”
“No. Why do you think you need a pretend boyfriend?”
“Oh. Um, I guess I don’t want to get caught in a lie. Not that cutting yourself is any better than lying, but I just feel so lame for making that up. Besides, I want my dad to quit treating me like a little girl.”
“You think having a pretend boyfriend is the best way to assert your independence?”
“I guess not,” she said, because he had a point.
“You could get a real boyfriend.”
“Not one with your name.”
“Say we broke up.”
Embarrassed, she stared down at the sand. “I want him to think I’m mature, not a slut with a new boyfriend every day.”
“Like Lisette?”
Her head jerked up. “You know her?”
He smirked. “Doesn’t everyone?”
“All the boys do,” she admitted cattily. “We’re not friends anymore.”
“Why not?”
“We just aren’t.” She examined his expression with suspicion. “You’re not screwing her, are you?”
He was quiet for a moment. Then he smiled again, going from handsome boy to teen-dream heartbreaker in a split second. “I’m not even your fake boyfriend yet, and you’re already jealous. I like it, rich girl.”
Carly punched him on the arm, using a little more force than was playful.
With amazingly quick reflexes, he grabbed her fist before she could retract it and squeezed hard enough to startle her. “Don’t do that again,” he warned.
She felt a shiver of awareness, for his hand was large enough to cover her fist, and felt strong. “Touchy, aren’t you?”
The glaze in his eyes cleared, and he slowly released her. “What duties am I to perform, as your boyfriend?” he asked, after a pause.
His voice was low, teasing, cutting through the tension that had cropped up between them. This was the behavior she’d expected of him, but she found herself too shy to flirt back. “You’d have to meet my dad.”
“Oh, God,” he groaned.
“And maybe, um, take me to the movies.”
He insulted her by mulling it over. Then he had the nerve to bargain with her. “On one condition.”
“What?”
Staring at her mouth, he said, “If you want people to think we’re dating, we should act natural with each
