‘I guess I got used to being the one he depended on,’ she said in a small voice.

  ‘He hasn’t rejected you. He’ll always need you. But pain is part of life and he has to learn to face the pain without your help.’ He kissed her ear. ‘Knowing you’re there if he does need you is sustaining him right now. He’s working with a safety net. You.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, her voice breaking. ‘That helps. It really does.’ She swiped her fingertips under her eyes, then cleared her throat. ‘What would help me more is to stab Kimberly in the eye with a really big knife, but . . .’

  He chuckled. ‘But you can’t have everything. You’re a fearsome woman. I like that.’

  ‘Not a monster?’ It was asked uncertainly and he sobered. Sighed.

  ‘Daphne, I’m sorry. I was shocked when you knew Beckett’s name. But I never thought you were a monster. I was angry that you’d had to go through that. That any of this ugliness touched you. That there wasn’t a damn thing I could do to make the past go away. But never once did I think you were a monster.’

  Her expression reflected in the window glass was one of abject misery. ‘I wonder how many he took,’ she whispered.

  ‘However many it is, they’re not your responsibility.’

  ‘Try telling that to their mothers and fathers. Try telling that to myself. He went free for seven years before I reported him.’

  ‘Seven years that he terrorized you with mind games.’

  ‘I always thought that he’d picked Kelly because she was Vivien’s daughter, that he knew we were coming or that Kelly might have even arranged it. I never once thought he’d do the same to anyone else. Why didn’t I think of that?’

  ‘Because you were a child. A little girl who was forced to grow up way too soon.’

  ‘I know. But I can’t stop thinking of all those parents standing at the window waiting for their daughters to come home. Not knowing where Ford was for a day nearly broke my mind. How have these parents borne the pain for all these years?’

  ‘You’re assuming there were others between Kelly and Heather.’

  ‘Aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I don’t want their blood to be on my hands, Joseph. But it is.’

  ‘No, it’s not. It’s on the hands of whoever declared Beckett dead twenty years ago. That could have been Beckett, faking his own death. It could simply have been a clerical error, but you didn’t make it. You told what you knew, honey. It’s not your fault that Beckett somehow managed to cheat the system. We’ll find out how. And if it was Beckett who’s responsible for the deception, we’ll make him pay. If it was an honest clerical error . . . I wouldn’t want to be in that clerk’s shoes because they’ll feel as culpable as you do now.’

  ‘Can we contact Agent Baker? Ask her who she talked to when she investigated?’

  ‘I’ve sent a request to the DC field office for the report she filed when she closed the case and for her to contact me, day or night. It’ll probably be morning before I hear anything, though.’

  ‘I hope by morning it isn’t too late, for Kim and her sister. And for Heather. She could still be alive. How can finding one cabin be so hard?’

  They’d received word that the teams had aborted their search for the evening. The dogs had lost Ford’s scent as they backtracked his path.

  ‘They’ll try again tomorrow at first light. They won’t give up.’

  ‘They may not have a choice. Look at that snow. It’s erasing everything. And what if Beckett’s gone back to the cabin already? He’ll kill her.’

  ‘If he goes back to the cabin he’ll be seen. The Bureau has all the roads into that wildlife management area under surveillance. If someone drives in, they’ll know.’

  ‘And if he never goes back and we never find the cabin? If by some miracle she’s still alive, she’ll die anyway.’

  She was coming unraveled so he tightened his hold. ‘Stop this. You’ll make yourself crazy. You didn’t cause this, Daphne. And their blood is not on your hands.’

  ‘I hear you. And I appreciate it. It’s just . . . never mind.’

  He squeezed her again, more lightly this time. ‘Talk to me.’

  She met his eyes in the glass. ‘When I was thirteen years old I decided to be a prosecutor because they were . . . righteous. And they made a difference, even if it was after the fact. They got justice. And I wanted justice. Needed it.’

  ‘I understand.’

  ‘I know you do. The day I met Travis, all I wanted was information on being a lawyer. He was the first one I’d ever met.’

  ‘He was a prosecutor, too?’

  ‘Oh no. He was defense. And if I’d known that, I wouldn’t have approached him to begin with.’ Her mouth winged up briefly, then drooped again. ‘If I’d known Beckett was still alive, I would have reported him.’

  ‘I know that, honey.’

  ‘And I appreciate that you do. What you think matters.’

  ‘But?’

  She sighed again, this time so wearily it made his heart ache. ‘I worked hard to get my law degree. I’ve worked hard to become a prosecutor. To be fearless. Fearsome. Dedicated to getting victims justice. But now . . . God, this is going to sound so selfish.’

  ‘So? It’s just us, Daphne. Talk to me.’

  ‘It’s just that nobody’s going to care that I’ve worked for the victims. Or how many bad guys I’ve put away. When this comes out – and it will – everyone will say, “She waited seven years to report him?” I’ll have to explain why . . . which will rip me open, for everyone to see. This could ruin my career, everything I’ve worked so hard to do.’

  Which would be, Joseph thought darkly, an excellent motivation for someone with a grudge against Daphne to orchestrate this revelation. Still, why now? And how did any of this connect to Doug and the Millhouses?

  She blinked and two tears rolled down her cheeks, followed by more that fell as steadily as the snow outside. There was no explosion of emotion, no sobs to wrack her body. No drama. Just simple despair that filled her up and had nowhere else to go.

  ‘It’s so selfish of me to care about myself or my career,’ she whispered brokenly, ‘because Beckett’s got more victims. Their families will want to know why, why I said nothing when I knew his name. I’m going to have to tell them. They’ll despise me, Joseph, because I was weak. And I can’t disagree with them.’

  She was breaking his heart. She hadn’t been weak. She’d been a traumatized child. There was no weakness in this woman and he’d defend her from anyone who said there was. Even if it was herself.

  ‘They won’t despise you. Come on.’ Pulling the drapes shut, he turned her in his arms and nudged her toward the stuffed chair in the corner. ‘Sit with me.’

  Wednesday, December 4, 11.30 P.M.

  Well. Mitch lowered the binoculars, no longer able to see them through the window once Carter pulled the drapes. Agent Carter and Daphne. That he hadn’t expected.

  Shame on you, Agent Carter. Fraternizing with a witness. And a perpetrator. Although he shouldn’t have been so surprised. The expression on Carter’s face as he’d leapt to save her from Marina’s bullets had been chilling. A man saving his woman.

  But just now, he’d looked helpless. A man comforting his woman as she cried like a baby. It would all be gelling together for her now.

  Wilson Beckett had been a busy man this evening. Took him long enough to get here, though. Filling his tank with gasoline had taken him longer than Mitch had expected.

  But once Beckett had arrived, he’d made good use of his time. The first BOLO that Mitch caught on his police scanner described Beckett wearing nurse’s scrubs, armed and dangerous. He’d stabbed a cop after attempting to murder a patient. Go, Beckett.

  A few minutes later the BOLO was upgraded to include a white pickup truck at the same time that emergency personnel were called to the southwest corner of the hospital. Sounded like Beckett had hurt somebody for those scrubs.

  Idiot.
He hadn’t needed to hurt anyone for the scrubs. There would have been plenty in the hospital’s laundry room. Plenty more if he’d just followed the guy home and stolen the scrubs from his clothes hamper. Now there was a new victim and an even higher price on Beckett’s head. Which was Beckett’s problem.

  Beckett’s problems were mounting.

  Because shortly after the cops went back in the hospital, BOLO was updated with the suspect’s name. Wilson Beckett. Daphne had come clean.

  Mitch was surprised. He hadn’t been sure that she’d ever tell, that she wouldn’t take her secret to her very early grave. He’d predicted that she might reveal Beckett’s name, but only when she was shamed into it by being shown proof that she’d been in that little bunker twenty-seven years ago. That she’d known all along.

  But she’d shared straight up. And now the shit would rain down on her head. Her career would be over. Her family would know the truth.

  The families of over two dozen dead girls would be asking why she didn’t reveal Beckett long before he tortured and killed their daughters. The families of over two dozen dead girls would want their pound of flesh.

  Sorry, guys. You’ll have to stand to stand in line. Daphne Montgomery is mine.

  Wednesday, December 4, 11.30 P.M.

  Daphne let Joseph lead her to the stuffed armchair where he tugged her onto his lap. She melted into him, pressing her cheek to his warm chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart as her tears continued to fall. She was too tired to make them stop.

  She let herself go, let herself lean on him. Inhaled the scent of him – soap from his shower, his aftershave. He held her close, one hand closing over her hip, anchoring her to him, the other rubbing her back. Slowly, firmly, rhythmically.

  Calming her. The tears slowed. Stopped. Until all that was left was the bare, unavoidable truth. All these years. She’d thought Beckett dead. But he’s not. He’s been out there. Doing it again and again. How could she face his victims? Their families?

  Her own family. Her friends. Herself. It’s not my fault. I didn’t know.

  How many times had she heard that excuse in court?

  ‘What have I done, Joseph?’ she whispered.

  ‘Nothing wrong,’ he murmured. ‘You were a child.’

  He sounded so sure and in her mind she knew he was right. She desperately wanted to believe him in her heart.

  The hand that rubbed her back lifted to stroke her hair, gently at first, gradually increasing the pressure until he massaged her head, taking care to avoid yesterday’s bump. She let her head fall forward and for precious minutes she didn’t think about anything except how good it felt. He seemed to know just how hard to press.

  He seemed to know exactly where it hurt. Even if she’d had another wig with her, there was no way she’d put it on now. His touch against her scalp felt too good.

  The quiet moan escaped her before she knew it was coming. His chest expanded in a giant exhale as his hips shifted beneath her. He was aroused, but not demanding.

  ‘Feel good?’ he asked, his voice a deep rumble in his chest.

  ‘Mm-hm. Thank you. I’ve had a headache since yesterday morning. I thought the worst was over when Ford was found. And for me as a mother, it is.’

  ‘But for you as a person?’

  ‘My worst nightmare.’

  ‘Coppola said you had one last night. A nightmare. Did you dream of Beckett?’

  ‘Yes. And that little room and Kelly’s screaming. And . . .’ She hesitated, not wanting to tell, but knowing she must.

  She could feel his dread as he held her, his arms tensing. ‘And?’ he said, his voice gone darkly menacing.

  She sighed. ‘I wasn’t entirely truthful earlier.’

  ‘You said he didn’t touch you.’ He went still. ‘No, you said he didn’t touch you the way he touched her. Why didn’t you say it before?’

  ‘He didn’t touch me. He would have, though. That’s why I ran. I didn’t say it before because Ford was there and I didn’t want him to know. But somebody needs to know the truth because now . . . there are others.’

  ‘What did he do?’ he growled.

  ‘It wasn’t what he did. It’s what he said. Can you settle down? The growling is making me edgy.’ She sighed, trying to calm herself. ‘I was an early bloomer. Always looked older than I was. I was the only eight-year-old in my class with a training bra.’ She shrugged. ‘Beckett noticed.’

  Joseph quietly seethed. ‘And then?’

  ‘He’d pet my hair and tell me that I needed to “cook” for a while longer. I think he’d planned to keep me until I’d developed more. It wasn’t like he was going to let me go.’

  ‘He needs to die.’

  His expression was deadly, but Daphne felt safer than she ever had in her entire life. ‘I completely agree. But I don’t want you to do it.’

  Dark, determined eyes met hers. ‘Why not?’

  ‘One, it’s against the law. Which I know I’m supposed to say, but which doesn’t make it less true. Two . . . I’m very much an eye-for-an-eye kind of girl. But there are consequences to every decision we make. I don’t want you to have to live with any negative consequences on my account. At least that aren’t absolutely necessary.’

  ‘Killing him feels necessary,’ he said darkly.

  ‘Stopping him is necessary. Justice is necessary.’ She ran her finger over his frowning lip. ‘Giving the victims the closure of a guilty verdict is necessary.’

  He closed his eyes. ‘You’re right. I still want to kill him, though.’

  ‘So do I, but I only told you about the needing-to-cook comment because it might help you catch him. Kelly was seventeen and so was . . . is Heather. He might have only shown interest in me because I was convenient. But his attraction may not be based on chronological age. So don’t narrow your field on possible victims.’

  ‘I understand,’ he said grimly. ‘Is there any more you remember?’

  ‘His smile. When he’d come back up the stairs from . . . from raping Kelly, he’d smile at me like everything was normal. Like he was . . . Ward Cleaver or something. Later when I’d come home and he wanted to keep me in check—’

  ‘You mean terrorize you?’ Joseph interrupted harshly. ‘Because that’s what it was. An innocent child being terrorized by an adult with all the power.’

  Another voice punched through the memory of Beckett, echoing Joseph’s words. ‘That’s exactly what Maggie said.’

  She could feel his momentary surprise. ‘Maggie knows?’

  ‘She and the FBI agent I gave my statement to are the only ones who did.’

  ‘His name, too?’

  ‘No. Maggie couldn’t get me to say his name. My statement to Agent Baker was the only time I gave his name to anyone. Until tonight.’

  He processed this. ‘So he’d smile when he terrorized you?’

  ‘Yes. It would make me throw up. The last time was the day before I met Travis. I was walking to the bus stop after work and there Beckett was, standing under a streetlamp. He smiled at me and drew a line across his throat. I ran back to the restaurant, got sick. Called Maggie to come get me. She begged me to tell her the name of the man but I was too terrified.’

  ‘Maggie told me she was your adopted grandma. How did you meet her?’

  ‘After my father left us and Mama moved us to Riverdale, she’d rented a little apartment in this nice woman’s basement.’

  ‘Maggie was the nice woman?’

  ‘Yes, she was. She had a big farmhouse with a lot of land. And horses.’

  ‘Ah, I wondered how the horses factored in.’

  ‘They were Maggie’s. Her husband had been a breeder, pretty famous in their neck of the woods. Anyway, Mama and I arrived in our station wagon, which was packed full of everything we owned. She took me into the house, introduced me to Maggie, and started down the basement stairs. I freaked out.’

  ‘I can understand why.’

  ‘I still have trouble being underground. Mama
was trying to calm me and Maggie was staring. Not like she was appalled, but like she was assessing. I was having a major meltdown without saying a word or even making a sound.’

  ‘You said you didn’t speak for eight months. You mean nothing? No words?’

  ‘Not one. Mama was getting frantic, telling me that I was going to get us thrown out. And Maggie stopped her. Told her that nobody was throwing us out and that I didn’t have to go down the stairs. She gave me a room, decorated for a girl who loved horses. Maggie was a social worker and she and her husband had been foster parents. Her house had always been filled with kids. Now it was empty because her husband had died and she hadn’t had the heart to take in anyone new.’

  ‘Until you and your mother.’

  ‘Yes. She’d decided that her time for grieving was past. She was so patient with me, taking care of me so that Mama could work. When the husband walks out, it’s sometimes financially worse than if he’d died. We were destitute.’

  ‘If he’d died, you would have at least had his pension.’

  ‘Exactly. After a few months, I ventured into the barn. And met Lulu. That horse – and Maggie – were my salvation. At first I was like a little ghost, always watching. Then one day Maggie put a brush in my hand. I’d brush that horse and feel connected again. Like I was part of the world. When I’d have a nightmare or a panic attack, Maggie would carry me out to the barn and put the brush in my hand. It’s a wonder Lulu wasn’t bald after all that brushing. But I’d brush Lulu and bathe her. Later, I’d ride her and whisper my secrets in her ear. The wind in my face, the freedom of being able to go anywhere I wanted, the act of caring for an animal . . . It healed me, a little at a time.’

  She sighed. ‘And then one day it was just me and Maggie in the barn with the horses and it all came out, all in a rush. That’s the only time I’ve ever seen Maggie cry. I was terrified after I’d told her. I never wanted Mama to know. Mama stood up for me with her family, lost them because of me. My dad was gone, because of me.’

  ‘Please tell me that you know now that it wasn’t because of you.’