Her Last Sunset: A Meredeth Connelly Mind Hunt Thriller (Meredeth Connelly Mind Hunt Thrillers Book 2) Read online

  The loop rolled on and on, and she tried to divorce her mind from the input but failed. And then it was time for Nuthin’ But A G Thang by Dr. Dre and Snoop Dog, and she groaned as the introduction played. It was another song she’d sort of liked. It had a good beat to dance to, not that she could dance in her present circumstances.

  She lay her head back, resting on the floor of the box, but the subharmonics of the song’s driving bass rattled her brain, and she shifted positions to lay her head on the fleshy part of her forearm. Why did this happen to me? What have I done to deserve this? She knew the thoughts were pointless—she didn’t know the answers to those questions despite thinking of almost nothing else—and a new mantra surfaced in her mind.

  You were nothing before me.

  Without me, you will continue to be NOTHING.

  You let your family down.

  You owe me everything.

  You were supposed to protect your little sister, but you didn’t.

  Without me, you’ll end up a nobody.

  You are a worthless, contemptible waste of DNA.

  No one is looking for you.

  Your mother didn’t care enough to protect you from me.

  No one cares about you, not your extended family, not the police, not the FBI.

  You deserve life in that box.

  She knew that mental voice was correct, knew it beyond the shadow of a doubt, and hot tears sluiced down her cheeks in a continuous stream of self-hate. I let everyone down. I should have fought him, I should have screamed, should have got away and called 911. A sob wracked her. I…I was never a good big sister. I was never a good daughter, and I brought death to the only people who ever loved me.

  The music changed—back to Marky Mark—and she groaned and beat her empty hand against the wooden floor in frustration. This has to stop! she thought, screaming it in her mind like a ragged screech of a steam whistle.

  You were nothing before me.

  Without me, you will continue to be NOTHING.

  Squeezing shut eyes that burned from a lack of sleep and a constant stream of tears, Missy began to speak nonsense syllables aloud—anything to drown out the music, to kill the looping mantra of self-hate, even though she knew the words in her head were correct.

  You let your family down.

  The words broke her heart because they were true, and she knew it. A black maw of pain and self-hate beckoned from within.

  You owe me everything.

  She still heard Marky Mark. She still heard the words in her head, and she didn’t dare increase her own volume. Rule two, she thought, utter silence. She was already risking her kidnapper’s wrath with her stream of baby-talk.

  You were supposed to protect your little sister, but you didn’t.

  Her breath hitched in her throat, and she wanted nothing more than to die, to pass on in peace, and hopefully meet her family in heaven.

  Without me, you’ll end up a nobody.

  You are a worthless, contemptible waste of DNA.

  It’s true, she thought. I’m already nothing, nobody. Even before the…that night, I was on the road to nowhere. I didn’t care about anything, not really. My so-called friends were shallow, mean, and that’s all I deserved.

  No one is looking for you.

  It was the final straw, the last word, the last nail in her coffin. No one is looking for me because no one cares enough to notice I’m missing. A harsh, chest-hurting sob accompanied the thought, but there was nothing she could do. She had no way out, no way to escape, no way to turn back time and do things differently.

  I am a worthless and contemptible waste of DNA. I am a wasted human life, she thought.

  CHAPTER 5

  On The Hunt

  Pass-A-Grille Beach, FL

  He folded the newspaper with efficient grace, reinforcing the creases made by the machinery in the pressroom at the Times, then leaned across to the passenger seat of his swanky German sports car—a Porsche 911 GT3 with all the bells and whistles coated in a brilliant snow-white metallic paint—and put the paper into the glove box. Excitement played glorious chords in his mind, a perpetual undercurrent of elation and an urge to get on with his role in the grand plan. But in addition to the exhilaration, he felt relief…vindication at the news of his father’s conviction—as he had when the announcement of his arrest had come. He hated the parts of his mind that entertained such thoughts, such emotions, but he couldn’t deny them.

  He’d been taught to accept them, instead, and he did so. Those thoughts were part of who he was, nothing more, nothing less, and his father had told him time and time again, that those kinds of sentiments were both natural and expected. His father didn’t begrudge him those feelings, though he did expect him to bury them, to leave them unvoiced in the darkened basement of his mind.

  A cold, dark rage was the other undeniable emotion he felt related to his father’s imprisonment. Fury was his constant companion, ever since he’d seen Meredeth Connelly in that interview with the scumball reporter at one of his father’s scenes. The reporter had earned the fate his father had meted out, but to his mind, his father had only done half the job—Jeremy Goode—and left the other part—Meredeth Connelly—undone. But maybe that was something he could take on, now that he was the head of their little family. He closed his eyes and imagined Connelly bleeding out on the deck of his boat.

  The fantasy soothed him a little, and he raised his head and looked out the front windshield at the open-air seating of the Sea Monkey. His quarry still sat in the shade, nursing her drink and laughing at something her girlfriend said. His gaze crept across the horrid fluorescent green façade of the bar, silently taking inventory of the prey available to him once more, but he found none of the others available, despite their perhaps more suitable attributes.

  No, the blonde drinking and laughing and dragging her feet on the patio was his only real choice, and if he were honest with himself, all this looking around, all this window shopping was nothing more than a farce. He wanted her and only her. She was perfect, even if she was the slowest creature on the face of the planet when it came to finishing a beer.

  He had his “random” encounter with the woman all planned. She and her friend would have to walk right past his Porsche to get back to the friend’s crapmobile—he glanced down at the notes he’d scribbled on the back of an envelope—to Beth Andersen’s car. He would open his door, his phone pressed to his ear, and cross around to the sidewalk, “oblivious” to their path, and walk right between them. He’d have some patter going into the phone, something about how he’d hate to miss the sunset, that he’d taken the time off special to “take you out on the sailboat,” that he’d “go without you” if he had to. He might even bump into the blonde if he could arrange it and make it look natural. Then, as he apologized and asked if she was okay, all while wearing his “concerned” expression, he’d introduce himself. He’d say she had to let him make it up to her, that he’d love to take her out on the water and show her a real sunset.

  Beth Andersen drained the last of her beer and grabbed her purse, all while waving at the blonde to drink up, to hurry up. He smiled at her unwitting assistance. He planned on seeing her later, this Beth Andersen, one way or another. The pair left the table, and he frowned at the half-drunk beer the blonde left behind. She probably wasn’t even buzzed, and that would make his task harder.

  He steeled himself as they left the balcony. He pressed his phone to his ear and waited for them to take the stairs to the ground floor, then make their way outside. He stared at the door to the place with the intensity of a wolverine, his eyes narrowed and bright, his breathing a little too fast, a little too shallow. It was always that way on a hunt, however, and he was used to the slightly heady feeling it gave him. He enjoyed the heady anticipation.

  They came out, the blonde again laughing at something Andersen said. The woman must be a real comedian, he thought. He rested the fingers of his left hand on the door release and turned his head, so it wasn’t so obvious he was watching the two. He started talking, started gesturing the manner he assumed a jilted player might do when stymied. “But I took the time off already. You said you could go.” He raised his voice a little, hitting the pitch he wanted so it would carry as he popped the door open and stepped out. “No, I own the sailboat, Jennifer, but I did take the time off work—made special arrangements, in fact—because you said this would be the best time. We had a date. I mean, I’m not out in left field on this, right?”

  He walked around the slanted nose of the sports car, pretending to listen to “Jennifer’s” reply, shaking his head a little as he approached the step up. “No, just disappointed, is all. I know you have to go support your friend.” He shrugged and stepped up. “No, it’s no big deal. But I’ve already come down to Pass-A-Grille, so I’ll probably head out anyway—I love sunsets on the water.” He turned toward the pair of women and began to walk north, his head down. “No, I mean the marina is right here, the boat is ready. No, Jen, you shouldn’t. Don’t feel bad at all. It’s okay. Go be with your friend. We can do it another time.” He nodded, then threw a sharp glance over his shoulder and pretended to stumble into the blonde’s path, bumping into her.

  He immediately dropped the phone away from his ear. “Oh, my God, I’m so sorry! I’m such a klutz at times!”

  “No, no,” said the blonde, a half-smile on her face. “You’re fine.”

  “I’ll say,” murmured Beth, though she positively towered over him.

  He flashed her a quick grin, then cut his eyes back to the blonde, making it clear where his preferences lay. “No, it’s inexcusable. I’m so sorry! Really, I should have been paying more attention.” He turned and scanned the sidewalk. “Something…” He s
hook his head.

  “Your friend is probably wondering what’s going on,” chimed the blonde, laughter in her voice.

  He grinned at her and lifted the phone to his ear. “Jen? Gotta go. We’ll talk later, okay?” He nodded, then pretended to hang up his phone. “My cousin,” he said.

  The blonde tinkled another laugh and glanced at Beth. “His cousin,” she said.

  “Right,” said Beth.

  “Yeah, I know,” he said with his best, most charming smile. “Sounds like a line, right? This time, though, it’s on the up-and-up. You can call her and ask her.” He held out his phone. “See if I’m lying.”

  The blonde laughed yet again—he already hated the vacuous sound—and shook her head. “You’re fine,” she repeated.

  He smiled and shrugged. “Still, I feel bad.”

  “No harm done,” said the blonde with a glance at Beth.

  He bounced his gaze back and forth between the tall woman and the short blonde. “Uh… This is going to sound… You’re going to think I’m very forward, that I’m a player or something, but would it be crazy if I took you on a sunset cruise out in the Gulf?” He again ping-ponged his gaze back and forth between the two, a small smile quirking the corners of his mouth. “It would be a pleasure, and it would help me to feel like I’m doing right by you.”

  “But you haven’t done anything wrong,” said the blonde. “It was an accident.”

  “It was, but my mother would kill me if she knew I almost knocked you over and didn’t at least try to make it up to you.” A look of horror that was almost comic on Pass-A-Grille Beach splashed across his face. “My name is Alex, by the way. I don’t know what came over me. My mother’s probably spinning in her grave.” The blonde laughed, and Alex had to fight from cringing at the obnoxious sound.

  “It’s no problem,” said Beth, and he barely glanced at her.

  “Will you come?” Alex asked the blonde.

  “Well…” said the blonde. She glanced first toward the Gulf of Mexico, then up at Beth, quirking an eyebrow.

  Beth’s gaze, however, was on his face, and it was a little probing, a little assessing.

  “You’re both welcome, of course,” he said, with the now-familiar, quick glance up at Beth, then the lingering stare at the blonde’s elfin features.

  “Nah,” said the tall woman. “I’d hate to be a third wheel.”

  “Oh, but you wouldn’t be,” Alex insisted. “And I don’t want to feel like I’ve disrupted your plans.”

  “We were going home,” said the blonde. “Right, Beth?” She half-turned and looked up at her friend.

  “Uh, yeah,” said Beth. “I’ve…got to work later.” She tossed a wink at the blonde. “But I’ll be home after, and you can tell me all about”—her gaze darted toward him—”the ‘sunset.’”

  “You’re a doll, Beth,” said the blonde.

  He just smiled at her, returning her knowing look with a half-smile and a wink. “If you’re sure? I could always take you out on your next night off.”

  “Sure,” said Beth. “You two go.” She flicked her gaze toward the blonde and grinned. “Have a good time.”

  Careful to keep his expression in the right place, Alex turned and pointed across the narrow peninsula. “The marina’s over there, but my car’s right here. Want to walk or drive?”

  “I’ll leave you to it,” said Beth, already stepping away from the elfin blonde Barbie doll. “Call me later, Abby.” She went on her way with a last glance at him, followed by a wink.

  A calm exhilaration flooded him, and he wanted to giggle with it. He was almost there, almost had Abby on the boat, and once he got her into the cabin, she was his.

  CHAPTER 6

  Sitting In A Tree

  Quantico, VA

  As Connelly pulled her suitcase toward the runway with one hand, she hit Kevin’s contact on her private cell with the other. It was half-past one in the afternoon, but she knew he’d pick up, busy or not. She lifted the phone to her ear and reduced her pace. She wanted a moment to talk to Kevin, not fifteen seconds to say, “I can’t make it.”

  He picked up on the third ring. “Let me guess,” he said by way of a greeting, “you’re on your way to Florida.”

  “How did… You saw the ADA on television.”

  “You bet,” said Kevin.

  “I’m sorry, Kevin.”

  “It’s okay, FBI. I understand the life, after all.”

  “But still, I was looking forward to this weekend.”

  His voice sounded like he was smiling when he spoke next. “Me, too, but there will be plenty of weekends when there isn’t a psychopath requiring your special skills.” He paused for a moment, then said, “And to be honest, we’ve had a run of good luck recently. Four weekends in a row seemed too good to be true, and with the disappearances in Tampa and the guy dropping bodies in Amarillo, I figured I’d get a call like this sooner rather than later.”

  “The Amarillo case is a slow burner,” she said. “And, to be honest, pretty straightforward. Jim sent another profiler for a few days to get the relationship set up and to help the locals with a profile based on what we know now, but we can’t afford to leave profilers in the field for six or seven weeks waiting for the next body. Too busy.”

  “Right. Tell me about Tampa.”

  “It’s St. Pete, actually. Pass-A-Grille Beach.”

  “Ah. No idea where or what that is.”

  “I’ll let you know once I know the answers to those questions. A body washed up out of the Gulf.”

  “A whole body?”

  “No. Torso only, but it’s the right size and shape to be one of the missing women.”

  “Hmm.”

  “What?” Meredeth asked.

  “If you don’t want a body found, it seems like the Gulf is a great place to dump them. A little weight, a couple of gallons of gas, and no one will ever know for sure.”

  “Yes,” she said in a thoughtful voice. “Then why’s this one washed ashore?”

  “Hey, FBI, you’re the ‘super profiler.’ I’m just a hick police chief.”

  Meredeth chuckled. “Hardly.”

  “No, it’s true. I’m sitting on an old garbage can out in the middle of the woods right now. Better than one of those citified desks.”

  Meredeth laughed. “That sounds like fun…provided we were alone.”

  “Then I’ll mark the spot,” he said.

  “But I might need a cushion.”

  “Noted. Maybe I’ll even spring for one of those canvas chairs so everything lines up right.”

  “You do that, Kevin, and we’ll give it a try.”

  “Promise?”

  “Next weekend I have free,” she said in a lilting, come-hither voice.

  “Hmm, that sounds like more fun than last weekend…maybe. We might need a repeat performance to see.”

  She shook her head and laughed again. “No way, sailor. Even thinking about last weekend makes me blush.”

  “I have a hard time picturing you blushing, FBI. All that iron-clad emotional control, and all.”

  “I blush on the inside.” The pilot of the Gulfstream appeared in the plane’s doorway and looked in her direction. “I’d like to keep this conversation going, but…”

  “The plane is waiting.”

  “Right,” she said. “I’ll call you when I get a free moment and Van Zandt’s not around to say I’m going all ‘moon-eyed.’”

  “I make you moon-eyed?” asked Saunders. “Hmm. I thought you just scrunched them closed, then stared up at me like you just figured out how to see.”

  “Well, sure, but that’s only when you give me a reason… And I’d really better go before this call dissolves into phone sex.”

  “I’m not that kind of girl, FBI. You better buy me dinner first.”

  “Next time we’re together, you better reverse the order if you want to survive dinner.”

  Kevin chuckled deep in his throat. “Noted. Now go get on the plane before your partner starts texting me about you being too ‘moon-eyed’ to do any work on the plane.”