“You’re him,” she whispered. “Arnie.”
Forty-Two
Mia thought her body might levitate. The weight of twenty years had just lifted off her chest, all the tears, the nightmares, the fears—banished in a single moment.
She’d found him.
Soon, she would learn her mother’s fate.
Outside, the rain continued, gentler now, more of a slow plop, plop against the windshield. Arnie had stopped off-road in front of a clearing surrounded by tall pines. The sky was darkening, the stars shone brighter.
He shut down the engine. “We’re here.”
Her heart pounded against her ribs, adrenaline screamed in her veins, and she welcomed all of it. She would take no more deep breaths to counteract her body’s reaction to this man. “You don’t scare me, Arnie.”
“We’ll see how long that lasts.” His lip curled. “And my name’s not Arnie. That’s just what I call myself around whores.”
“I’ll call you Arnie, too, then.”
“You want to be my whore?”
“Not your whore. But that’s the name my mother called you, so I’ll call you by it, too. How many women have you been with? Besides my mother and Alma.”
“Don’t mention Alma in the same breath, please, but since you asked, I haven’t really kept track of the number of whores I’ve slept with—too many to count, you see. But your mother was special. One of my favorites.” He unhooked his seat belt. “A shame I had to… well, we’ll talk more.”
Her heart was kicking like it wanted to escape her body. If she died tonight, she’d make him pay for his crimes first. She’d gouge an eye out, smash his face with a rock—he wasn’t going to get away clean.
Not this time.
Not from her.
“What did you do to my mother? How many women have you murdered?”
“Let’s walk and talk.” The door locks clicked open. “I love the rain—it’s romantic.”
Did he have a gun on him? Maybe in his jacket or tucked beneath the back of his shirt. If she could grab it, get a drop on him…
“Get out.”
With her good arm she opened the door and climbed down from the SUV, careful to avoid landing with her weight on her swollen ankle.
“Let’s hold hands.” He came around, grabbed the wrist that hung limp at her side and twisted.
A moment of blinding pain—and then exquisite relief.
She looked down at her arm and smiled.
Little did he know he’d just popped her dislocated elbow back into place.
Now her arsenal included the use of two arms instead of one.
“You want to walk side by side? No gun in my back? Seems risky,” she said.
“I’ll take my chances.” He smirked. “I don’t think you’re in any shape to put up much of a fight. And it’s nice to have someone to talk to. You’ve got that therapist of yours, but I don’t. Secrets are heavy, and I haven’t slept well since Celeste. I’d like to unburden myself.”
“I’m not a priest.” She pulled up short and turned to meet his eyes. “And I wouldn’t give you absolution if I were.”
He resumed walking, still gripping her hand. “Maybe I’m just looking to be understood. For Arnie to be seen and heard. You have questions. Let’s see which of them Arnie feels like answering.”
She quickened her pace lest he pull her sore elbow out of its socket again. As they moved across the clearing, she kept her eyes peeled for stones and sticks, anything she could use against him. But it was getting darker by the minute. She could hardly see a foot in front of her, and the tall grass obscured the ground.
“How many women have you murdered?” she asked a second time, bracing for the answer.
He gave her hand a crushing squeeze, and then dropped it.
Thank God.
Rain harder.
May a downpour from heaven wash away the poison from the places he touched my skin.
“Again with the how many? I’m no serial killer—at least not the one the FBI is looking for. I didn’t kill those women in Colorado and Arizona. Whoever that guy is, though, he’s provided me with nice cover. But, no. I’m a good man—a family guy. You think I’m some kind of monster but you’ve got it all wrong. I only kill when necessary. And if you need proof, consider the fact that I could’ve gotten rid of you twenty years ago, but I didn’t. I let you have a life, all this time, when I could’ve—should’ve—snuffed you out.”
He was definitely going to kill her.
She didn’t want to run—she wanted to fight—but life suddenly seemed sweet, too precious to give up the chance to go on living.
They were too far from the trees for her to make it to cover if she ran now. But when they got closer to the woods, up ahead, she might make a break for it.
He pulled his phone out and shone the flashlight on the ground.
“Why didn’t you kill me twenty years ago, then?”
“Oh, I considered it. Your mother hid you so well I didn’t even know you existed until I read about you in the papers. A six-year-old girl digging her way out of a shed.” He whistled. “Impressive. Too bad your mother put me in a position where I had no choice except to get rid of her.”
“Where is my mother? What have you done with her?” She wanted to know the truth. No matter how terrible.
“Be patient. We’re talking about you, not her. Like I said, I read about you in the papers, and you presented quite a dilemma for me. I was worried you might’ve seen something. But you didn’t, did you?”
“No.”
“Good to know. I’ve never been sure. Anyway, I didn’t want to kill a little girl. I’m not a monster—not at all.”
“You expect me to believe you let me live because of your conscience? You don’t have one. You killed your own daughter.”
“Perhaps I don’t then—though Celeste isn’t my blood, so I’m not sure your point is valid. As for you, in the end, I made a practical decision. I already had one murder to cover up, one
