Dead in Her Tracks (Rogue Winter #2)(24)

A sharp pain spiked through her skull, and she knew he’d hit her on the head. Stevie closed her eyes, searching for her last memory. Donald had greeted her at the pharmacy and chatted a bit about Bruce’s recovery from his car accident. He’d stopped midconversation and looked past her, a startled expression on his face, and she’d turned to see what had surprised him.

And she remembered nothing else.

Is this Donald’s basement?

He had that big empty house his mother had left him . . .

He killed Vanessa Phillips.

Stevie knew it with every cell in her body. She studied the room, knowing Vanessa must have been chained exactly as she now was. Had the other missing women been here too? How many?

Terror threatened to overtake her thoughts, but she fought it back.

She needed to focus and get out. The room had a single metal door and three rows of bright fluorescent lights recessed behind plexiglass in the ceiling. Even if she got her hands loose she wouldn’t be able to get at a bulb or break some of the plastic to use as a weapon.

Zane? Was he looking for her?

She had no concept of time. Did he even know she was missing yet?

The women from Medford had never been found. Neither had Samantha Lyle.

Am I next?

Zane’s face lingered in her thoughts, and she pressed her lips together, fighting back tears. Her left thumb went to touch her engagement ring and found an empty finger. She craned her head, trying to see her left hand. Her ring was gone.

A trophy.

She swallowed hard, tasting tears. Not while I’m still breathing, you bastard.

If Donald thought she would go down easy, he was in for a surprise.



“Can you swing by Donald’s house?” Zane asked Kenny. “And ask if Stevie picked up Bruce’s medication?”

“Not a problem,” said Kenny. “He only lives a mile or two from me.”

“I found a phone number under his mother’s name, and it must have been a landline in her house at some point, but it’s been disconnected. I asked around for his cell number, but no one has it.”

“A lot of people have disconnected their landlines,” remarked Kenny. “I’ll call you back after I talk to him.”

Zane ended the call. It was just after eight o’clock. No reason Donald wouldn’t still be up.

His brain churned. If Stevie had picked up the medication but hadn’t made it out to her mother’s home, she could have gone off the road anywhere between the two locations. He mentally drove the five-mile route, looking for a place she might have slid off the road. The snow had mostly melted and the roads shouldn’t be icy, but even wet they could be treacherous. He grabbed his hat and keys, needing to take action instead of making phone calls.

This feels like the search for Bruce.

It’d been less than a week since another member of the Taylor family had been missing.

Zane wanted a quicker and safer resolution for Stevie.





CHAPTER ELEVEN





When the locks clicked on the heavy metal door, Stevie felt as if she’d been waiting for hours. She’d stared at the door for a long time, squinting at the brown streaks that raked the concrete blocks next to the doorframe. The more she’d looked at them, the more she’d been able to envision a woman clawing her fingers bloody on the concrete, trying desperately to escape.

By her legs there were brown stains on the mattress. Like blood had pooled.

Her mind had tried to shut down as she’d stared at them. How many women died on this mattress?

The door opened and Donald strode in with a confidence she’d never seen in the quiet man. He practically strutted. She hid her surprise and simply stared at him.

Show no fear.

She knew a victim’s fear would feed a man like him. It was all about power.

How had he become this person? She’d known Donald and his mother most of her life. Her parents had considered him a close acquaintance, if not a friend. As the town’s longtime pharmacist and sole Realtor, he’d been a large chunk of the town’s foundation. Now he was a cancer that ate away at their town from the inside, slithering in the shadows, striking out at vulnerable women.

Stevie wasn’t vulnerable. And she would let him know it.

The chains on her ankles clanked. Maybe I’m a bit vulnerable.

He stopped a full three feet away from the metal-framed bed and ran a proud gaze over her. “I can’t believe you’re here.”

She said nothing, keeping her eyes trained on his face. He’s staying a safe distance away. He’s not entirely confident.

“I’ve always liked you, Stevie,” he said. “You were one of those girls in town that drew everyone’s attention. Beautiful, outgoing, energetic. And talented. I’d forgotten how you can sing.” A dreamy smile filled his face. “When you sang the other night, it blew me away. Your whole family is quite talented. I’d always had a thing for your mother, you know. Her voice was incredible. Does she wonder what might have happened with her singing career if she hadn’t married your father?” He tilted his head to the side as he asked the question.

She stayed silent.

His face fell. “So it’s going to be like that, is it? This will go a lot easier for you if you’re polite, Stevie. I don’t think Patsy raised you to be rude.”