Pescoli was keeping to herself, observing, though more than once, Alvarez caught her partner studying the screen that had appeared when the television clicked off. Maybe it was her way of calming her aggression, but just listening, not interacting was certainly out of character for her.
Alvarez took another quick look at the TV screen. Nothing out of the ordinary. The current photo was of a family portrait taken years before, with Gerald and Noreen twenty-five or thirty years younger, their children spread around them in matching outfits, the boys in white shirts, navy vests, and khaki slacks; the three girls in red dresses. Someone had added their names to the digital picture.
“We have nothing to tell you,” Noreen insisted, and sent her husband a silent message. She tried, once again, to call one of her children to no avail. “Where are they?” she whispered and closed her eyes. “Don’t they know that we need them?”
Pescoli said, “You had seven children?”
“I had seven,” Noreen clarified, sniffing angrily. “Gerald obviously had a few more.”
“What happened to your daughters? Agatha and Kathleen?” Pescoli asked.
“I’d rather not talk about it.” Noreen’s voice was a whisper. She closed her eyes, her entire face tensed as from pain.
“Agatha was our late in life baby,” Gerald said. “There were complications with the birth and we knew early on that there were issues. She would be mentally… challenged. But she was. .”
“An angel.” Noreen glared at Pescoli. “I don’t see what this has to do with anything.”
“How did she die?” Pescoli asked.
Noreen looked like she didn’t want to respond, but then reluctantly said, “It was an accident. I’d run to the store, hadn’t been gone half an hour. Clarissa, she’s the oldest, was supposed to be watching the younger ones. .” She sighed and looked up, toward the window facing the front of the house, but Alvarez knew she wasn’t seeing the snow falling outside. Her sight was turned inside herself, to a time she would clearly rather forget. “As I understand it, the boys were playing like they do — did — they’ve always been active. Aggie. . she was supposed to be asleep. Taking her nap. .” Noreen blinked and shook her head, dispelling the image running through her brain. “Oh, God, I can’t do this.”
Gerald took up the narrative. “We don’t know exactly what happened, but, as Noreen said, the boys were roughhousing, they had a wooden sword and were running up and down the stairs. Aggie woke up, walked out of her room with her blanket and one of the twins—”
“Cam,” Noreen supplied miserably.
“Bumped into her.” A muscle in Gerald’s jaw worked. “She got tangled in her blanket and… she fell down the stairs. It was an accident.”
Alvarez met Pescoli’s gaze.
It was an accident. Like Shelly Bonaventure accidently took an overdose? Like Jocelyn Wallis accidentally fell to her death over a railing? Like Elle Alexander accidentally slid off the road into the river in her minivan? Or like Karalee Rierson accidentally skied into a tree?
Frightened out of her mind for Eli, Kacey started for the barn.
She’d taken three steps through the knee-high snow, around the side of the garage, nearly at the gate separating the backyard from the barnyard, when she saw movement out of the corner of her eye.
Her heart squeezed.
Eli?
She turned.
No, much too tall, she realized as the dark figure of a man began to take shape, a man emerging from the back porch.
Trace?
Thank God!
Relief washed over her and she started heading his way. “Trace—” she began to call when the sound suddenly died in her throat.
Fear congealed her blood.
Just the way he moved warned her. Caused the hairs on the back of her neck to stand on end. The falling snow blurred the image, but now that he was closer she knew he wasn’t Trace. Dressed in black from head to foot, odd-shaped goggles over a ski mask, a rifle in one gloved hand, he started to jog toward her.
No!
She took off at a sprint, running, fast as she could through the thick powder, churning up snow, getting nowhere. She heard him behind her, coming ever faster. On level ground she might have had a chance, but she was breaking the trail and he was following. Gaining.
Oh, God!
Frantic, she yanked her phone from her pocket, hit redial and started to yell over the cry of the wind. “Trace!” she screamed but her voice was lost in the storm.
“Bitch!” he snarled so close to her and she plunged forward, bracing herself, knowing a bullet was soon to crack her spine.
Faster! Faster! Faster!
Adrenaline spurred her on.
“Trace!” she screamed again.
If only she had a weapon, a knife, a rock, anything!
Blam!
Pain exploded in the back of her head.
Her knees buckled and she fell forward. Arms flung out, stretched. Her phone spiraled into the air to plummet into a drift. Snow covered her face and her eyes felt as if they were jarred from her head. I’m dying, she thought, her brain on fire. I’ve lost them all. .
Blackness pulled at her consciousness and she expected the darkness to overcome her, yet she felt his hands upon her. Rough, circling her ankles, dragging her backward through the frozen snow and ice.
She heard him breathing. Swearing. Ranting.
“. . supercilious bitch… ruining everything. . a doctor. . yeah, right… think you’re so damned smart. .”
She tried to fight, to struggle, but her brain wouldn’t engage and she felt him drag her up the steps of the house, her chin bouncing on each icy ledge. Bang, bang, bang! Her chin split. Cartilage in her nose crunched. Pain ripped up her face. Tears sprang to her eyes and she moaned. A stinging, as if by a thousand yellowjackets had attacked her, pierced her skin. Blood trailed across the porch, following her into the house.
It was all she could do to stay conscious.
Who was he? she wondered, but knew it didn’t matter. The fact that she wasn’t dead already meant that he had plans for her… ugly, horrific plans.
Think, Kacey, think! Don’t give up. Don’t let the darkness overtake you! Hang on. .
He kept dragging her across the linoleum kitchen floor and into the den where the fire burned low, reddish embers glowing in the hearth. Then he rolled her onto her back. She felt the blood staining her face.
“I’ve waited years for this,” he growled and for the first time she realized she hadn’t been shot. No way would she have survived a rifle blast to the head. But the butt of his rifle showed red stains and hairs where he’d slammed it into the back of her head. “God damn it, I wish I would have killed you the last time.”
In the parking garage, she thought. This man dressed in black was the same man who had attacked her years before! Who the hell was he?
“But then I wouldn’t be able to savor it now.” The voice. . oh, God, he was one of the twins! Cameron? Colton? Did it matter? He looked down at her through his black ski mask and she imagined he was smiling, feeling superior. “Take my time.”
She blinked, trying to stay focused.
“You’re one of them, you know,” he said. “The ‘Unknowings’. Those Gerald spawned. Females, who are compromised .”