The Dark Places R. Whitfield (read aloud books TXT) 📖

“Isabelle Lacross,” she said out loud as she typed the name into the search bar. The search yielded seventeen results, mostly various mainstream news articles on the discovery of Isabelle’s body and even a few mentions of Isabelle from her hometown newspaper, including one on her direct entry to college.

Madison clicked on the article from her own paper that should have been written by her. She shook her head at the headline: Young woman’s body found by taxi driver. Well, that’s stating the obvious, Madison thought to her herself. God, who is editing this crap? I would have gone with: City gripped with fear as gruesome body of young woman is discovered. Now, that’s how you sell a paper, she smiled. After clicking on a few more links that were very much the same, she found one that had somehow managed to get a grainy picture of Elliott and Rhodes at the crime scene. They were standing facing each other — Surin’s hands were on her hips, her head bowed. Madison studied the picture, leaning in closer to the screen. She really was a beautiful woman. Large eyes, graceful posture, she even managed to make being at a crime scene in the dirt look appealing. Parker was looking at the top of her head, obviously mid-sentence as the picture was snapped. He was tall and broad and in complete contrast to Surin. Light where she was dark, calm where she was intense. She definitely saw why they appealed to each other. Parker was a hell of a lot better than that cheating bastard Grayson. Whoa, she thought, you made him into the cheating bastard and why are you happy that she has found someone else, she’s a complete bitch!

Madison shook her head again. Dark where he was light. Dark — Isabelle had dark hair. Maybe if I search by her features, I might come across some obscure paper that has more information. Some tabloids manage to scrounge information from old school flames, distant relatives and people who just want their five seconds of fame, but sometimes the smallest details can make a case. A lot of these types of papers didn’t use the actual name of the victim for legal reasons. It’s a long shot, she thought, but worth a try.

Murdered, dark hair, young, female, Maryland.

The screen inevitably filled with pages of links as she had expected, but there was one in particular that caught her eye. She clicked on it and sat looking at the picture displayed for the longest time. It wasn’t Isabelle, that she knew for certain, but it damn well could have been. Dark-haired girl, found raped, body dumped in Annapolis. The article was dated June 2007.

Madison quickly typed the new information she had found into the Annapolis Times search bar and sat back, staring at the screen.

Who the hell was Emma Silverman?

***

He watched her in the reflection of the window, his arms stretched above him and folded behind his head. She turned and smiled stupidly, shaking her behind at him playfully.

“Stop watching me!” She giggled. If she only knew what was going through his head right now, he smirked.

“I like watching you dress,” he lied and got up slipping on grey cotton boxer shorts. “I need to shower, I have a meeting in an hour,” he added, then walked past her and into the bathroom.

“Do you want some company in there?” she asked suggestively. He rolled his eyes, resisting the temptation to grab her and throw her out of the nearest window. What I need is to wash your stench off me, he thought.

“No, sweetie, I’m in a rush,” he replied, and with that, he closed and locked the door.

She stared at the bathroom and tried to ignore the nagging feeling in the pit of her stomach.

Jesus, Lucy, she scolded, he is perfect. What is your problem? She shook her head and continued to get dressed for another tedious day at work. For the first time in her life, she had a man who was not only gorgeous but sensitive, understanding, had almost exactly the same interests and tastes that she had, was smart, had money and, more importantly, a decent job.

OK, so he could seem a bit distant at times, had hardly told her anything about himself, he wasn’t interested in meeting or spending time with any of her friends or family, and he didn’t like going out very much, so what? He was shy and a bit of a homebody. It could be much worse. She dabbed some coral-coloured Revlon lipstick on her lips and smiled into the mirror. He was very impressive in bed, she added, mentally ticking off a list, defending him to herself. Yes, it took a lot for him to actually want to get in bed, but when he finally did, he was amazing. Slightly rougher than she was used to, but still, the best she’d had in a very long time.

Grabbing her black work bag, she once again leaned close to the bathroom door and called out through the haze of running water. “Want me to wait, Babe?”

“No,” he replied sternly.

She leaned back, waiting for more. When nothing came, she slowly walked out, shutting the front door behind her. He is perfectly normal, she told herself on the way to the elevator, I’m lucky I found him.

He waited until he heard the tell-tale click of the front door closing.

“Oh, thank God,” he said out loud, switching off the shower. He had been standing in his towel, waiting for her to leave for the last five minutes.

Unlocking and opening the bathroom door, he breezed through his apartment opening windows, trying to rid the place of her presence. He understood that he required a girlfriend to keep up appearances, but it was becoming difficult to maintain the