However, all readers - sooner or later - find for themselves a literary genre that is fundamentally different from all others. Missing by Adam Nicholls (top e book reader .TXT) đź“–
- Author: Adam Nicholls
- Performer: -
Book online «Missing by Adam Nicholls (top e book reader .TXT) 📖». Author Adam Nicholls
She’d been typing up all the details, arranging them into an order that would make sense to a reader—as she’d trained for during her many journalism courses. She scanned in the pictures, attaching some with a warning that the gore might make some people uneasy. In spite of her experience with such matters, it even made her feel sick.
She was just finishing up when she received the email from BRAHM82. Her fingers finished typing the blog as if on autopilot, while her eyes fixed on that name. Do I know this person? She thought not, but on the suspicion that it might be fan mail caressing her ego, she couldn’t wait to open it.
That was her first mistake.
Her eyes scanned over the threat as her heart lodged in her throat.
Miss Black,
You’ve been working too hard on this case over the years. As fascinating as it has been to read about your findings, might I dissuade you from delving any further into the matter? Think, for instance, if anything happened to Amelia…
I’ll be watching.
Brahm
P.S. If this email gets out, I’ll know.
Evie’s heart beat like a drum while she read and reread the email.
Who the hell is this guy? How does he know about Amelia? Amelia was her biggest secret. She’d only ever told one person about her, and that was Mason. It didn’t even cross her mind that he might have something to do with this. Sure, he could be a little aggressive sometimes, but not toward her, and never without provocation.
As painful as it was, Evie decided it was better not to cause further risk, and deleted the post—her pride vanishing with it. She headed to bed, where she could hide under the duvet and think about the case… think about Amelia.
Maybe she was in way over her head after all.
Mason made it back just in time to catch John Miller, the police department’s best and brightest tech specialist. Only it looked as if he was leaving.
“Heading home?” Mason asked, jogging to catch up.
“Yep, finally,” John replied, leading him down a maze of corridors as fast as his legs would carry him.
“I need you to do me a favor.”
“Whatever it is, it will have to wait until morning.”
Mason pulled the evidence bag from his pocket and slowed John to a stop, ignoring the instruction. “We might have some evidence on the Lullaby Killer here. Is it possible to recover it?”
John sighed, looked at the bag, and snatched it. He held it up to the light, glaring at the dirt that stained the inside of the bag. “Jeez, that looks like a real mess. Where’d you find this—the gutter?”
Mason just stared at him.
“Any water damage?”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
John let out the same huff most techies use to announce their struggle with the science of technology. The bigger a fuss they made of it, the more they looked like heroes when they did their jobs right. “It might be. No guarantees. But like I say, you’ll have to swing by in the morning.” He handed back the bag and kept on walking, leaving Mason to catch up again.
“John, there’s a killer out there. The quicker we sort this out, the better.”
That was enough to make John stop and raise his voice, in spite of his smaller build compared to Mason’s. “Uh, badge or not, you’re still a civilian. So, I’m already doing you a big favor as it is. You want my help? You got it. But right now I’m heading home to be with my sick wife.”
Mason watched him storm out and felt a dash of embarrassment. How was he supposed to have known that the guy’s wife was sick? “Hey, I’m sorry about that. Truly, I am. But what the hell am I supposed to do in the meantime? Sit on my thumbs?”
“Go home,” John shouted down the corridor without looking back. “Be with your own family.”
Feeling helpless and irritated, Mason stuffed the evidence bag into his pocket and headed out front to where he’d left the car.
John obviously hadn’t heard the latest.
The car grumbled along the empty road. It was late, and Mason was trying not to disturb the neighborhood with the noisy engine. Besides, the fewer people who knew he was there, the better.
He stopped across the street and sat watching.
This is my home, for God’s sake.
The lights were on inside, but only a vague silhouette could be seen behind the drapes. Mason pictured all the things that made him sick: Joshua hugging his daughter; going upstairs with his wife; making love to her in his bed.
It was enough to drive a man mad.
The silhouette moved, too, disappearing from behind one window and appearing at the next. A light soon flicked on in an upstairs room. Amy’s room.
The drapes were open, and Mason could see her clearly. She was wearing her favorite scarlet sweater and examining the bookshelf with much contemplation. He couldn’t see for sure at this distance, but he could picture her nose crinkling up like it usually did when she was concentrating. Amy finally decided on a book and sat in the window seat to dive into it.
Mason was so pleased that she’d turned out to be more of an academic type. If she’d been anything like her mother, she would be too vain to see outside of herself, and she definitely wouldn’t lay her hands on a book—fiction or otherwise.
Mason wanted to knock. He longed to storm in and kick Joshua out, and then tell his wife that it was okay to put everything behind them and work things out. He was convinced all they needed was one tough conversation, and then they could strive toward a resolution.
No, he heard Evie saying somewhere in the recesses of his mind. Keep your distance, sweet brother. No irrational moves.
Who was he kidding anyway? Sandra would never go back now. Was Mason even sure he wanted to be back there? He was coming to understand his own feelings. It may not be that he even wanted his marriage back on the rails. More likely, he hated to have been betrayed by a goddamn Pilates instructor.
Sulking in self-pity, Mason finally called it a day. He started the engine and eased out of the spot, trying not to attract Amy’s attention. Tonight, he would slip into the house without alerting Bill and Christine. Tomorrow…
Well, tomorrow was another day.
The killer had been awake all night, tossing, turning, and craving a kill.
For so long, he’d been keeping a low profile in San Francisco. Two years ago, when the detective had been snapping at his heels, he’d stayed away altogether. He’d even traveled long distances to continue his work. But now, he was back, working hard and desperate for more.
The sun was at last up, so he climbed out of bed and dressed in yesterday’s clothes, got in the RV, and drove around the city. The roads were clear for this time of day, but he knew that would change as he got closer to the school.
He arrived within an hour and parked in sight of the front gates. The parents were just dropping their kids off and heading out to start their own days. The last of the buses
Comments (0)