I knew nothing.
Nothing except my life was in jeopardy and would most likely be over soon.
Instinct required that I survive.
They must have given me a head start, as I didn’t hear anyone following me. I found a secluded corner, sat down, and applied pressure with my hands to the cuts on my breasts. I couldn’t afford to wait here for long, but if I could stop the bleeding altogether, I’d be able to move faster.
“Help me.”
I cocked my head at the soft voice. No one was here.
I was imagining things. I had to be. And why not? I was fighting for my life. Fighting for my future.
And my future was the next minute.
If I was lucky, the next hour.
“Help me.”
“Stop it,” I said aloud. “You’re imagining things.”
“I hear you,” the voice said. “Help me. Please.”
Still my imagination. A boobytrap, probably. I wasn’t falling for it.
When I finally had stopped the bleeding, I rose. I couldn’t run now or the precarious clots wouldn’t hold. Which was, of course, the point.
I inched slowly against the wall, the cement rough against my back. I turned a corner, and—
I clasped my hand to my mouth.
“Help me.”
A young woman lay curled in a fetal position. She was naked, as I was, and her head had been shaved. And she looked young. So young. I was only nineteen myself.
I knelt down. “Hey. Who are you?”
“Please help me.”
“Get up. Come on. Get up.”
“I can’t.”
“You can. You have to.” I shook her gently.
She sobbed quietly. “That hurts.”
I looked closely. I didn’t see any blood, so she was in better condition than I was. “You can. Now get the hell up!” I grabbed her shoulders.
“Aauuuggghhh!” she shrieked.
I broke my hold quickly. “What did they do to you?”
“My shoulders. They’re both dislocated.”
“Damn. I’m so sorry.”
“Can you pop them back in?”
“I can’t. I’m not a doctor.” And if I didn’t get out of here, I never would be. “I might do more damage.”
“Then please. Kill me.”
My heart dropped to my stomach. Kill her? I couldn’t kill anyone.
“Please,” she said again. “I’d rather die here than have them torture me anymore. Please.”
“I…”
“What’s your name?”
“Zinnia. Like the flower.”
“I’m Katelyn.”
“Katelyn. I’m so sorry.”
“Please, Zinnia.”
“My friends call me Zee.”
“Please, Zee.”
“You can’t ask this of me. How will I live with myself?”
She scoffed softly. “Live with yourself? You won’t live through this, Zee. You won’t have to live with yourself for long.”
I considered her words. Yes, I actually considered them. But not for long.
“I’m so sorry,” I told Katelyn. “I’m not a killer.”
She closed her eyes, groaning. “Then run. I hear them coming.”
I turned my head. Sure enough, faint footsteps.
“Maybe it’s not them,” I said.
“It’s always them. Now do as I tell you. Get the hell out of here.”
“I can’t leave you.”
“If you can’t pop my shoulders back, and you’re not willing to kill me, there’s nothing more you can do.”
“I can carry you.”
“Then we’ll both die.”
My survival instinct flew into overdrive as the footfalls got louder. Katelyn was right. Survival of the fittest. I hated myself for leaving her, but I fled.
And I never saw her again.
42
Reid
I slowly slid the last photo into view. It wasn’t an item belonging to Lacey. No. It was a document.
A marriage certificate.
I gulped.
“No,” I said. “This can’t be.”
“It is.”
Derek Wolfe—my father—had married another woman.
And according to the date on the certificate, they got married before he married my mother. He was young. Really young.
“What does this mean?” I asked.
“It could mean nothing,” Buck said. “It could be a forgery that Jim was going to use to blackmail your father.”
“No.” I shook my head. “My father had way more resources than Jim. No way would Jim be stupid enough to even try.”
“How do you suppose,” Buck began, “your father got Jim to take part in his games?”
“Sickos attract sickos,” I said. “They’d known each other since they were kids. I’m sure they went around killing small animals and getting off on it.” God, I was going to throw up right here in broad daylight sitting on this damned bench.
“True enough. But have you ever considered that perhaps Father Jim was the instigator?”
“Over Derek Wolfe?” I scoffed. “No way. This has my father’s stink all over it.”
“Does it, though?”
“The man molested my sister from the time she was six years old. You don’t get much more disgusting than that.”
“Oh, you do. Your sister didn’t deserve what happened to her, but she’s alive. Many women aren’t. I’ve pulled the clippings.”
“They weren’t all buried?”
“The women disappeared inside New York city limits in the five years before Zee did. I have names, but I can’t find any more information. No next of kin. Nothing.”
“Buried,” I said. “He paid them off. They’re dead?”
“Most likely. No remains were ever found.”
“But the smell…” I wrinkled my nose.
“Yes. Rotting flesh. The odor was down there, but no bodies. Which means they continued killing, but again, they disposed of the bodies.”
“Are there any news stories after Zee’s time?”
Buck shook his head. “They upped their game after Zee escaped, but given what they put Zee through, I can imagine it got worse. A lot worse.”
I sighed. Buck was right, of course. Absolutely right.
“So anyway,” Buck went on, “we have three possibilities here. The marriage certificate is a fake. Or it’s not a fake, and Jim was holding it over your father’s head. Or it’s not a fake, and Jim was hiding it for your father.”
“My father could have easily had it destroyed himself if he’d wanted to.”
I read the certificate. Irene Lucent. Was she still alive? Did she even exist? Easy enough to find out.
“He could have. But he didn’t. Or at least he didn’t destroy this one.”
“Which makes me think it’s a fake.”
“Think about it, though,” Buck said. “If your father was actually married to a woman before your mother, like you said, he could have destroyed all the evidence long ago. In fact, he probably would have.”
“So you agree it’s a fake.”
“No, I think we’re attacking this
