Kissing the Killer(137)

I could see the madness in his eyes. Whatever had happened to Jean after his father’s death had pushed him well beyond the limits of a normal person. He wasn’t human anymore, not after all the killings. Maybe at one time he could have been saved, but the more he spoke, the more I knew that he was way beyond coming back.

“Not like this,” I said. “Please.”

“Sorry, Laney.” He began to unbuckle his belt, the wicked, twisted smile never leaving his face. “I like you, you know. You seem smart and kind. Easton likes you too.” He pulled his pants down. “He had a file on you. Described you as ‘sexy and brilliant,’ I believe. Plus those pictures were about as intimate as you can get.”

He began to reach toward me, and I knew what was coming. I had read the case files, over and over and over, and now I was becoming one of them. I was becoming one of those poor, murdered girls.

He reached up and unlocked my wrists. I tried to struggle, but I was so weak, he simple pinned me back against the wall.

“I like you, Laney,” he said softly. “So I’ll tell you this. If you struggle, it will be worse, so much worse.”

I began to cry.

Suddenly there was a loud boom. It was almost deafening in its explosive force. Jean instantly stopped what he was doing, his face clouding over.

“Fuck,” he said.

Hope filled my chest.

He moved back out of the cage and slammed the door shut. “Stay,” he said. “I’ll be back in a second.”

He grabbed the lantern and left.

My heart was beating like mad in my chest, but he hadn’t locked my hands back up.

I waited half a second for him to disappear upstairs, and then I shifted around, my face toward the cage door. I pushed against it as hard as I could, but it was locked.

I pushed and pushed and smashed with all my weight and strength, but it was making too much noise and doing absolutely nothing. I heard Jean stomping around upstairs.

Then I remembered his pants. He hadn’t put them back on as he’d left.

I reached out between the bars, groping blindly. My heart was hammering and sweat jumped up along my body.

Nothing but concrete floor. Nothing, nothing, nothing.

And then a cuff.

I grabbed it, pulling it slowly toward me.

It slipped through the bars and I quickly felt at the pockets.

I almost wanted to scream. There was a phone in the pocket. I pulled it out quickly and powered it up. As the lock screen appeared, I began to cry again.

It was my phone.

Quickly, I unlocked it. I went into the map program and found my location. I dropped a pin and then quickly scrolled through the options to share my location.

The door opened and the light returned.

Frantic, I found the share option. I scrolled through the names, quickly, quickly.

“Laney,” Jean’s voice came.

Easton. I found Easton’s name, hit send.

“I have a little problem up here,” Jean called. “But I will be with you very shortly.”

I went into the text program, found Easton. I’m here. Come get me. It’s Jean Rodriguez, he’s the killer. I hit send.

I heard Jean’s feet on the steps. I put the phone back into the pocket and slid the pants out of my cage.

Jean turned the corner and stopped in front of my cage. “Have you ever made meth?” he asked.

I shook my head, eyes wide.

“It’s a pain in the ass.” He grabbed his pants and pulled them on. “Don’t worry, I should be finished cleaning up soon. Then we can get back to it, okay?”

I backed up against the wall, hugging my knees to my chest.

He smiled and waved as he walked away, plunging the room into darkness.

It was just me again. Just me, floating in an empty space. Alone, terrified, and completely blind.

But Easton knew where I was.

Hope blazed up in my stomach.





26





Easton





I was almost too deep into my own research to notice the text.

It had hit me like a flash in Sloan’s office. And the more I read, the more it made sense.

Jean Rodriguez would be about Laney’s age, maybe a year younger. He had behavioral problems even as a young kid and had been diagnosed with severe emotional instability. The file didn’t actually call him a sociopath, but it definitely implied it.

Martin had protected Jean his whole life. When Jean began to act out, Martin used most of his money to pay for top care for Jean. Martin’s wife, Melissa, tried to help the best she could, and between the two of them they managed to keep Jean in check.

Around Jean’s fifteenth birthday, he caught and murdered a neighbor’s cat. He did some time in juvenile detention for that, but only a month. Martin got him out early.

Two years later, he got into an incident at school. Apparently, he had savagely attacked and brutally beaten another school boy over a girl. The details were pretty weak, but he managed to avoid jail time.