ALL THE PRETTY GIRLS BOOK 1 (38 page)

“How’d you do that?” she asked, not exactly stroking his ego but knowing he wanted to show it off.

“At first I thought it was Nathan Chase’s prisoner number, but that didn’t match up. It’s a simple code, correlating to the letters of the alphabet. R is the eighteenth letter, E is the fifth. S the nineteenth. After that it was pretty clear.”

Taylor stared at the board for the longest time, then stood, took the pen from Baldwin and wrote her own answer below his. The words chilled them both. I AM REESE CHASE.

“His father’s son. That’s what all this is about, isn’t it, Baldwin?”

Baldwin was staring at the board, nodding. “I think it is.”

Quinn Buckley was lying on the sofa in her library. She hadn’t moved since the police had left, simply stretched her feet to the right and her arms to the left and had gone horizontal with the minimum amount of effort. She was numb. Her sister was dead. Her husband was gone. And her son was wanted for murder. For so many years, Whitney and their parents had fought about it. Whitney was willing to take on the responsibility, to call Reese her own. She wasn’t afraid of the scandal. She wasn’t afraid of anything. But their parents had decided.

The word had gone out. Eliza Connolly had been blessed with a late-in-life pregnancy. A wondrous miracle, and weren’t they so deserving, after what the whole family had been through. Why, Peter Connolly had comforted his wife in the only way a man truly knows how to comfort a woman who’s grieving, and look at the result. A son to call their own. Of course, Eliza had the baby a couple of months prematurely, but no one quibbled about that. It just wouldn’t be the right thing to do, now, would it?

Reese Connolly had come into the world the object of wonder and innuendo, but never, never to his face. The child was brilliant, precocious, so beautiful with his Raphael black curls and his cherub mouth. The eyes that took in everything, let nothing slip him by. No, there was nothing Reese didn’t excel at.

Quinn shifted slightly. Her life’s punishment was her inability to be brave at the appropriate times. She should have kicked Jake out the minute he yelled at her when she tried telling him the truth. When he cheated on her the first time. The tenth. The twentieth. She lost count. She should have stood up to her parents like Whitney had. Insisted that Reese get the recognition of his own heritage when he was old enough to understand. No, she’d never had the strength her sister possessed in abundance. It had driven them apart—Quinn, her compatriot, her fellow victim, siding silently with the grown-ups, refusing to admit what had really happened.

Yes, she cosseted Reese while Whitney shunned him. She tried, as she got older, to make up for some of the things she’d neglected to help him with in his past. That’s why she took him in when their parents died. She could be his mother now, not that he’d be allowed to see that. She made sure he ate well, got to school, paid for his college education as well as medical school. Reese had gotten his own share of the inheritance, but she didn’t want him to be troubled with the financials. He didn’t need her coddling anymore. He was all man now. A man wanted for murder. Dear God, where had she gone wrong with him? She laughed softly to herself. Where hadn’t she gone wrong with Reese?

The phone rang. She tried to ignore it, but its shrill insistence finally drove her to get up, drag herself four feet away and pick up the receiver. When she reached it, the noise ceased and no one acknowledged her greeting. She realized it was dark outside. She’d been lying on the couch for hours. A thought crossed her mind. The twins. Did Jake have them? He must, she hadn’t heard a peep from them all afternoon. She didn’t remember telling him he could take their children with him when he took off this afternoon. She figured she’d best call his cell phone, insist he bring them home. She dialed the number, surprised when he answered after only one ring. She tried to be courteous. “Jake, I’d appreciate it if you brought the children back for the night. I don’t know where you’re staying but they have their own needs, their own beds to sleep in…. What?

You don’t have them? Did you drop them off somewhere? Oh my God, Jake, where are they?”

She was wailing, running through the house calling their names. There was no sign of either child. The phone rang again. She rushed to it, thinking it was Jake, telling her he was kidding, just punishing her for kicking him out. It wasn’t.

The voice on the other end of the phone was so soft, so low, she could barely hear it. Even months later, she’d swear she hadn’t really known what was said.

“Meet me in the clearing. Come see your children die.”

Taylor and Baldwin were sifting through Reese Connolly’s life. His small two-bedroom bungalow in West End was simple, clean and held few clues as to the nature of the killer who lived within its walls. A dig was going on in the backyard. Marcus had spotted freshly turned earth, and further investigation showed six perfect mounds, one laid out next to another with flawless symmetry. The first grave held a decomposing woman’s hand. Very carefully, the remainder of the mini graves were being excavated.

Taylor’s cell rang, and she sighed as she stopped, reaching for the phone, clicking it on. Even the most mundane task was exhausting. She wasn’t prepared for what she heard when she answered.

Quinn Buckley was hysterical, screaming into the phone. Taylor tried to calm her, to no avail. She gleaned only a few tidbits of information from the call—that Quinn’s children were missing, and that Quinn had been instructed to go to the spot they’d been playing the day she and her sister were kidnapped. Taylor remembered from Quinn and Whitney’s file that it was behind their parents’ old place, out on Belle Meade Boulevard. The homicide team split up. Taylor and Baldwin headed to the park. The drive took only ten minutes. Reese’s West End home was easily accessible to the main roads and they sailed through the dark night without trouble.

Taylor and Baldwin were tense and alarmed. Not speaking, each attuned to the other, they got themselves emotionally prepared. When children were involved, sometimes the results could be heartbreakingly bad. They had both seen the tumult that came into play with domestic violence. If what Quinn said was true, they would need to focus as much of their energies as possible to get the children out safely. They pulled onto Belle Meade Boulevard, Taylor counting down the addresses until they located the home that had belonged to the Connollys when the girls were children. They pulled into the entrance, struck by the house in front of them. Quinn had mentioned the house had sold recently but was unoccupied. A stroke of luck, the new tenants weren’t there to contend with. Taylor backed out, then pulled to the side of the Boulevard, right down the street from Quinn’s, and cut off the lights on her car. The moon was full, making the shadowy world before them shimmer. She and Baldwin jumped the fence and carefully made their way up to the house. There were two cars before them in the circular drive.

Taylor recognized the bottle-green classic Jaguar that had been parked in Quinn’s driveway. The other car she wasn’t familiar with, a black soft-top Jeep Wrangler. She radioed in the plates. The car was registered to Reese Connolly.

It was time, then. All the leads, the missteps, the death over the past two weeks would be decided in this last moment. Reese Connolly’s last stand against the world. And he was doing it with two innocents at his side. Taylor and Baldwin crept around the side of the house, silent in the darkness. Surprise was their only chance to help Quinn and her children. Reese didn’t know they would be here, ready to take him into custody. Or worse, if warranted.

“How do you want to do this?” Taylor asked, eyes adjusting to the darkness. The moon was giving off enough light to help them.

“Let’s take it slow, go through the woods. With any luck, Quinn was overreacting. Let’s get in there, see what there is to see. Maybe nothing will have to be done.”

Taylor’s hand slid the familiar route to her Glock, stationed at the ready on her hip. She unsnapped the holster strap, heard a corresponding snick from Baldwin, two feet to her right. She signaled to him in the shadows, motioning for him to go ahead. She broke out a flashlight, covered the edge with her free hand so they wouldn’t be seen and moved through the gloom into the backyard of the house.

“Through there,” Baldwin whispered, pointing to a small opening in the woods. “That should be the path to the clearing.”

They crept along the path, swatting branches and spiderwebs from their faces. After about fifty yards, the path grew wider. They could see the clearing just ahead. 

Careful to make no noise, Taylor slid from behind the cover of the trees, Baldwin right on her heels. She could already hear sobbing, pleading and the strong voice of the man who’d claimed eight lives.

“Quit blubbering, Quinn, it makes your face all puffy. You want to look beautiful for the cameras tomorrow, don’t you? You’ll want to be the fresh and pretty mom next door, keening and wailing in your reserved way, sorry about the death of your children and only brother. Oh, but that’s not right, is it? I’m not your brother after all. Just a poor kid who no one thought could handle the truth. You and Whitney let them, Quinn. You let them perpetrate the lie.” There was a shuffling and a thin, high-pitched squeal came out of the darkness. One of the children had cried out and been muffled.

Quinn’s voice was choked with emotion. “Reese, you don’t understand. You can’t possibly understand. We were twelve years old, Reese. Twelve. Our innocence stripped away on a couch that stank of beer and sweat. Please, Reese, my children have nothing to do with this. You and I have many things to talk about, to work through. I’ll help you every way I can. I’ll get you out of the country so you don’t have to stand trial. But please, Reese, let my children go. They’re innocent in all of this, they shouldn’t be punished for the sins of their mother.”

Quinn was pleading now. With her voice for cover, Taylor stepped even closer, lodging herself against a young tree for support, her gun drawn and ready. She risked a glimpse around the tree. Quinn was approximately forty feet from her, she could see her clearly in the moonlight. Reese, though, was out of sight, a disembodied voice ringing out through the night. She couldn’t see the children, either. Shit, it was a blind shot. Not a thing she could do. Not yet.

Quinn continued trying to talk Reese into handing over the children. She must have started moving, because Reese’s voice rang out, clear and cold.

“Don’t move another inch, Quinn. This knife I have against sweet little Jake Junior’s throat could slip, and he’ll go down fast if you come any closer.”

Quinn raised her hands in submission and took a few steps back. Taylor realized that from Quinn’s angle, she could see Reese, had a clear view of him. Could see the knife pressed to her child’s throat. Quinn gave up trying to negotiate for her children’s lives, settling instead on trying to get answers from Reese. Good girl, Taylor thought. Keep him talking, let us get him surrounded and cut off. She sent the mental message to Quinn, praying that the woman could feel her presence.

Baldwin caught Taylor’s eye. He held up a hand, fingers splayed. Five minutes, he was saying. Give me five minutes to get into place, then we’ll take him. She nodded and watched Baldwin creep away. If Quinn could keep him occupied for five more minutes. Taylor tuned herself back into the conversation Quinn and Reese were having.

“Reese, please honey, tell me why. Why did you kill all those girls? What made you go crazy like that?”

“I AM NOT CRAZY!” he roared, and one of the children gave a whimpering yell. “Shut up, you little shit. Shut up or I’ll kill you, you hear me? Quinn, that kind of talk is going to get your babies killed. But I’ll answer your question. I did it for my mother.”

“Reese, you don’t—”

He interrupted her. “Don’t tell me what I don’t know. I know, all right? I’ve known since I was fourteen. Old enough to understand, I think. Mommy got raped and had a baby. I knew all about the birds and bees by then, Quinn. All you had to do, all any of you had to do was tell me the truth. We wouldn’t be here now. But you didn’t. You hid it away, ashamed of me, ashamed of what had happened.

“I read Whitney’s diary the day your parents were killed. That’s when I realized, finally understood. She was so strong, wanted so badly to let the world know I was her son. Even though she never admitted it, I knew. I could tell as she looked at me. As I got older, she started pulling away. She didn’t want to have to admit how wrong she’d been. But I would have forgiven her, Quinn. I would have forgiven my mother anything.”

Taylor inched around the trees, trying to get into a position where she could see Reese. She moved deliberately, stalking from one tree to the next. After two minutes, she could almost touch Quinn, she was so close. Three more minutes.

Reese continued his diatribe. “I did the next best thing. If Mommy wouldn’t acknowledge me, maybe Daddy would. And he did. You remember Daddy, don’t you, Quinn? Nathan Chase? I’m sure he remembers you fondly. No, don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying that it was right, what he did.” His voice broke for a moment.

“I’m not saying what I did was right, either. But it had to be. I had to help my mother.” His voice grew stronger. “It was the best idea. Something that would get Whitney’s attention. Something that would make her a star. You knew how much she wanted to be a nationalnetwork reporter. You know the pains she went to, making herself perfect. She just needed that one story that would break her out of the pack. I gave her that.”

Quinn’s breathing grew shallow. “You’re telling me you killed eight girls to help Whitney get a story? That’s what all this is about?”

“Seven. One little bitch died on me. It was a wonderful idea. Something that would get national attention. Especially moving the bodies from state to state, and leaving a hand behind. I knew that would get the right people involved, would dramatize everything. I thought it was fitting, seeing as my real mother never laid hands on me, never held me in her arms as her son. I didn’t have the stomach for it at first, but as I went on, I got used to it.”