Let Me In, page 9
part #1 of Morgan Young Series
Matthew lunged out and grabbed his arm. “Wait. Shouldn’t I tell them about this?”
“I’ll do it,” Morgan said, gently loosening the viselike grip. “I promise.”
Seconds later, he was out of the park and rushing to his car, digging into his pocket for the phone so he could make a call. It rang for an eternity before Gary picked up, answering with a flat, croaky voice that Morgan knew for certain was about to gain a little more enthusiasm. “We have him,” he said, opening the car door and fumbling the keys. “The killer’s name is Nick Hansen, and he went to our school. Send in the troops—I’m on my way.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
It’d been nearly ten minutes since Nick Hansen removed the gag from her mouth and retreated to the stairs, where he dropped onto one of the lower steps and watched. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected—some screaming, maybe some bargaining—but so far she hadn’t said a damn word. All he’d seen was a thin teardrop. All he’d heard was a silenced sniffle.
He got up and stormed toward her, raising his hand high and hoping to provoke some kind of reaction. But there wasn’t so much as a flinch. Emma Cole only stared up at him with inquisitive eyes that were laced with fear but were still narrow slits.
Resigning, he lowered his hand.
“Why aren’t you scared?” he said, pulling at the threads on his sweater.
Emma turned away from him, raising her head to look down at her body, which was strapped hard to the table. When she saw this, her head fell back. Her eyes rolled up toward the ceiling. “I am scared. I’m frickin’ terrified.”
Nick thought she sounded sincere too. There was no waver in her voice to suggest otherwise, but then why wasn’t she screaming? Why hadn’t she tried to break free and run upstairs? Probably because the first thing she’d run into was his mother, that’s why. “It makes no sense. I could cut you up at any moment, and you don’t even care.”
His victim said nothing.
“I could tear your face apart like I did to your friends.”
That created a reaction, her eyes finally widening into shock-filled blanks that gawked at him with both disgust and disbelief. But there was something else in them too: recognition.
“Holy shit, I know you. You’re Nick Hansen.”
He couldn’t help but smile. It wasn’t just that she might have a reason to fear him now, but all those times she’d rejected his advances—all those times she’d convinced herself she was too damn pretty to be seen with the likes of him—were returning as nothing more than regret. Nick had longed for this day since he was twelve years old, being used as nothing but a stepping stone to the next guy. But how had that worked out for them? Remembering the way he’d made a mess of their faces, he figured not well.
Now that she’d identified him, she started to thrash against her constraints.
“Yeah, you’re right to be scared.” Nick stomped forward and stuffed the filthy rag back in her mouth. He hoisted himself onto the bench, his hip nudging into her side as he seated himself and leaned over her. “Because now, after all these years that you’ve been laughing at me from behind your social media wall, I finally have a voice.”
Emma’s subtle tears became big sobs as she choked on the rag, wincing with every inch closer he came. She rolled her head to one side, her cheeks turning red as tears glistened on her skin before dripping onto the table.
There was no escaping him.
“Remember that time I dated Carrie Whittle?” Nick said, recalling only the negative moments and the humiliation that came with them. “She was mine. Mine. All those bad things she said about me? About how I stalked her and became possessive? Yeah, that was all bullshit. But you didn’t want to hear that at the time, did you?”
Emma cried into her rag.
“From where you were standing, I became a problem and your friend dumped me before getting lucky and finding some good-looking, smooth-talking new guy who offered a shoulder to cry on. And then what? They go on to live happily ever after, while I get branded a psycho by the entire school. It’s not fair, is it?”
The sobbing stopped. Emma stared toward the ceiling.
Nick shook his head, thrusting his fists into the table. “It’s not fair! What if I told you everything you knew was a lie? What if that whore was sleeping with him the whole time, and the only way she could justify her ‘transition’ was to label me a creep? All you girls, you’re the same. Blame the guy, right? There’s a blatant disregard for what it does to a man.”
The awful memories of those years engulfed him, spiking his rage to new heights. He launched himself off the table and crossed the room, if only to keep himself from punching a thousand holes into her face. It was like those old emotions—the ones he thought he’d left in high school—were coming back for him. Could he not just live a normal life?
No. Not after what she’d done.
Not after what they’d all done.
“I tried to give them all a chance,” Nick said, turning back toward the table while grinding his teeth into dust, “but things haven’t changed a bit after all these years. You’d think those girls would’ve at least acknowledged me after passing me in the street, but they didn’t. You didn’t. It’s like the past never happened. Speaking of which, did you ever tell your husband we had a fling behind his back?”
There was nothing but muffled protest from Emma now. For all the good it’d do her.
“Of course you didn’t. I bet that’s why he swung for me all those years ago, huh? Let me guess; I was following you? Stalking you? And you didn’t have the heart to tell him that you were fucking me the whole time? See, history just repeats itself. The others were killed immediately for the same thing, but you… you’re lucky to have lived for so long.”
But that was the end of it. His trip down memory lane fell into the background as his old emotions were stirred up and blind anger took the spotlight. Lunging forward, he swiped a pair of scissors off the side and stormed toward her, pure hatred surging through every inch of his body as he seized his opportunity for vengeance.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Morgan stopped the car on the side of the street and killed the engine. His heart jackhammered in his chest while he climbed out and rushed toward Gary, who was hurrying down his driveway. They almost collided when they met.
“What do you have?” Gary asked, breathing heavily.
Being careful not to leave out a single detail, Morgan did his best to tell the whole story so far. As he recounted each part, awful memories spewed into his imagination, bringing him images of the victims like pictures in a grim pop-up book. He spoke without stopping, save for those times he licked his dry lips, while Gary listened carefully without uttering a single word. The information flowed so smoothly he could’ve sworn his lips didn’t so much as pause.
When he was all caught up, Gary exhaled and raked his fingers through his hair. He leaned back against Morgan’s car, crossing his arms and staring down at his feet. When he looked back up, a grin covered his face. “We have him, then.”
Morgan wanted to agree, but he couldn’t. Instead, he nodded and joined his friend against the cool glass of his driver’s-side window. The tails of his coat flapped in the wind. “If only it were that easy. But is it ever?”
The smiled vanished from Gary’s face. “I guess not.”
“What can you do?”
“I can run the name, for sure. If he’s been caught for anything so much as petty theft, he’ll be in the system. There’s no guarantee his information will be up-to-date and accurate, but it’s a start. We might get an address even if he’s unlisted.”
“Don’t get too ahead of yourself.”
“Why?”
“Doesn’t it just seem too good to be true?”
Gary shrugged, cleared his throat, and stayed quiet.
“Look, I don’t want to put a negative spin on this, but even if we have a name, it’s all we have. Emma Cole’s husband is happy to identify the guy if needed, but don’t take your eye off the ball here. Emma is still missing.”
“You don’t think I know that?” Gary stood up straight, nodding at the house. “Hannah has been trying to pick up the pieces while I wallow in self-pity. I’ve been aware of that and started making an effort to smile more around her, but it’s tough. The thing is, I need that faith. If Emma comes home and this bastard is locked up, I can rest knowing Carrie has been…”
Morgan watched him lower his head. “You want to say ‘avenged,’ don’t you?”
“Is that wrong?”
“A little corny, but not wrong.”
“I still mean it.” Gary stretched as he yawned, his mouth a wide O. “Right, I need to head down to the precinct and see what I can dig up. Keep your phone on, because I’m going to keep you up-to-date on whatever I find.”
It made Morgan hesitate, half reaching for his phone before letting his hand slip down to his side. “How long will it take?”
“A couple hours. Maybe three of four. Why?”
“Because you might need to be alone on this one.”
Gary stepped forward, his face a picture of shock. “What?”
“You heard me. I have somewhere to be tonight.” And he wasn’t lying—he’d been an awful excuse for a husband lately, and if there was one thing he had to take care of, it was his responsibility to his marriage. Gary was a good friend—his very best friend, without a doubt—but Morgan knew his place. “Besides, the MPD probably don’t want me snooping around. Don’t you think I’ve been in their way long enough?”
“Probably.”
Silence descended upon them, only the sounds of a fall gust brushing leaves around them.
“So,” Gary said, “should I call you?”
“Definitely.” Morgan laughed, checking his watch. “But only if you think it’ll be worth my time. Until then, I have to be at the HUCINS Center. Give my love to Hannah, will you?”
“Sure.”
Morgan opened the door and slumped back into the driver’s seat, feeding the key into the ignition with a big grin on his face. The wheels had all been set in motion now—there was a strong chance the DC Carver would be found, hopefully with Emma Cole unharmed, and then Morgan could go back to living his life in the best way he could.
But that was only one of the possible outcomes, he knew.
It was also the least likely.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
If he could fall any deeper into his own mind he would surely drown. Morgan made trips from the far wall, taking fold-out chairs with him, and carried them into the center of the hall before collapsing them into uncomfortable seats. He did this on autopilot, his mind working away like a great machine while the only present part of him was the pain in his lower back. It was caused partly by age, partly by a tree-climbing mishap when he was a kid. Whatever the main cause, the fact remained: it was aggressively uncomfortable.
The last time he’d been in this room, a serial killer had been in here with him, hidden among the audience, Gary and his wife, and even Rachel. The fact he’d gotten so close caused a whole load of concern for Morgan. Knowing one of them could be attacked at any given minute was anything but comforting. Morgan had learned enough to know that pretty—no, beautiful—women were more likely to become targets. He was no psychological analyst, but the fact their faces had been sliced open suggested a more personal aggression. Pairing that with what Matthew had said, the murders looked like a twisted case of jealousy. That was the short version anyway, but the same sickening feeling turned in Morgan’s stomach nonetheless.
“Something on your mind?”
Starting at the soft voice, Morgan turned from his bent-over position to see Rachel grab two chairs from the far wall. She returned with a large smile on her face, her pale cheeks rising into little bumps where her cheekbones were. She started to unfold the chairs.
“I’m fine,” Morgan said, though he was anything but. He checked his watch again—two hours since he’d last spoken with Gary, but he had yet to hear anything. He went on to check his cell phone, which had the same disappointing result. All he could do was settle into the moment and try to clear his head while he waited. “All ready for your event?”
Rachel nodded, snapped open a wooden chair, and lined it up with the others, completing the sixth long row. Until now she’d been in the back, preparing her latest speech and directing the volunteers. Keeping herself busy, as always. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”
“You’ll be fine.”
She hesitated, and Morgan caught the last second of a nervous exhale.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
Rachel paused, then smiled a perfect white smile. “Nothing.”
It didn’t fool him. Morgan had been married to her for too long to let that go unnoticed. Finishing off the chair, he placed it to one side and approached her. He took her hand and sat down, encouraging her to do the same on the seat beside him. “Something’s up, and if you can’t tell me, then who can you tell?”
Placing one warm hand on top of his, she reset her breath, and then looked him dead in the eye. The stare wasn’t cold—in fact it was warm and sympathetic—but it posed as a kind of curtain that flew open to reveal a hidden truth. “It’s your job.”
Morgan had an idea of where this was going, but he kept a lid on it.
“This whole DC Carver thing is making me nervous. It was okay for a little while, and I even pushed you into pursuing it, but when we found out he was in here with us…” She looked around the hall, her large, stunning eyes roaming the vacant space, the walls, the ceiling. “It was a big night for me, and it all came crashing down because he wanted to take Emma. I’ve been thinking about it a lot, and the more I do, the more I realize how selfish I am.”
Morgan firmed his grip on her hand, caressing her skin with his thumb. “You’re not selfish, honey. Far from it. I mean, look around you. You think all those kids would be better off without all of this? You’ve given most of them a second chance. You’ve spread awareness of their struggles. They need you, and you’re always there for them.”
Rachel shook her head. “It’s not that.”
“It’s not?”
“Emma Cole gets swiped out from under our noses, and all I can think about is how it ruined my big night. I feel like a monster. Now here we are, the second in a big series of charity events, and I’m anxious about something similar happening. The worst part? It’s not even worry for the other victim—it’s that selfish kind of worry.”
Tipping his head forward, Morgan kissed her hand. “What can I do?”
Rachel paused, biting her lip like she had something to say. When she finally spoke, it felt as though she’d discarded the idea and elected to say something else. “You love your job, and I’m always here for you. I can’t expect you to control where the killer goes, and that’s what makes me so nervous. The thing is, I don’t want anything to change.”
“With us?”
She shrugged, her cheeks turning red as she fanned her eyes to keep her makeup from running. “With us. With you. I guess I just wanted to express my feelings without you thinking you had to stop chasing that guy. You have a big heart, that’s no secret, but you have to persevere. If not for Emma’s sake, then for your own.”
Morgan didn’t entirely understand what she was trying to tell him. Women were often a mystery to him, and although Rachel was less so, he could only barely grasp the message she was putting across: she felt like a bad person. It wasn’t really about his work, and it wasn’t even really about hers. The tears she was fighting against were a product of her guilt, and the guilt came from her own feelings that the spotlight had been removed from her.
At least, that was what he thought.
But it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. She’d been working hard to help others for as long as he’d known her, and she’d never asked for a thing in return. Not even acknowledgement. Fast-forward a few years and she was still determined as ever, only now she finally got to give a grand speech about how far HUCINS had come, and what had happened? Some lunatic kidnapped an innocent woman and ruined the whole damn thing.
It was crazy, but he got it.
“Keep doing what you’re doing,” Morgan told her as he leaned in to wipe a stray tear from her cheek, vaguely aware of a familiar shape looming in the doorway. “Everyone knows how incredibly well you’re doing, and you don’t need a speech to fix that. I’m so, so proud of you, and everyone here is too.”
Rachel laughed through a fresh tear. “There’s nobody here, Morgan.”
“True, but you know what I mean.”
They chuckled together, her momentary misery washing from the atmosphere like a wave had taken it from the shore and carried it out to sea, far away from them. Rachel rested her head on his shoulder, sniffled, and sighed. “Thank you.”
Morgan brushed wisps of hair over her ear, enjoying the last few moments of warmth while the breeze crept in from outside. And the figure in the doorway? He was still there, probably waiting for the right time to interrupt. Morgan knew it had to come, and while he cherished this moment with the woman he loved, the compulsion to speak to Gary was so fierce it made him uncomfortable.
After all, there was only one reason he’d be here.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
It was a matter of minutes before Morgan stepped into the cold, joining Gary on the front steps of the charity hall. He immediately noticed the way his friend stepped from one foot to the other like he had something exciting to share. That little trait of impatience had never gotten by him, and today was no different.
“You have something,” Morgan said, more of a statement than a question.
“More than that. Follow me.” Gary rushed back to his car, hitting a button on the fob to unlock it and leaving Morgan to let himself in. When they settled, he switched on the dome light and heaved a large file from the footwell, dumping it onto Morgan’s lap.
