The Dollmaker(The Forgotten Files #2)(96)

Vargas handed Veronica a tissue from a small packet she kept in her jacket pocket. “I know this is horrible, but we have to know as much as we can about this man who recognized her.”

“Do you think it was this guy who hurt her?” she asked. “Would he be so bold?”

“Some killers find it exciting to hide in plain sight. Stalking their victims is also part of the thrill and the chase,” Vargas said.

“Stalk?” Her voice cracked. “This is a nightmare.”

In the moments after he’d been told about Kara’s death, he’d felt gut punched and had been sick to his stomach. He’d been unable to process much as he went to his CO and told him. It had been weeks before the marines allowed him to leave the front line.

“I want to see this woman you keep talking about,” Veronica said. “I need to prove you’re making a mistake.”

“Her face might not be what you’re expecting,” Sharp said.

A tear spilled and melted Veronica’s well-made-up face. “I want to see this woman.”

Sharp nodded. “Let me make a call.” He moved away from the two and dialed Tessa’s number. She answered on the second ring. “I have Veronica Hayes here. She wants to see her sister.”

“Give us a couple of minutes and we’ll get her ready for viewing. I’ll come get you.”

“Thanks.”

Sharp returned to Vargas standing next to a defiant Veronica, who was impatiently tapping her foot. “Just a couple of minutes.”

“You’re wrong,” Veronica said. “Very wrong.”

“Would you be willing to meet with a police sketch artist?” Sharp said. “You might be able to create an image of this man you saw in the restaurant.”

“It was a month ago, and I really only saw him in profile.”

“It can’t hurt,” Vargas said.

Doors opened to Dr. Kincaid and Tessa dressed in scrubs. Dr. Kincaid introduced herself and Tessa to Veronica.

Veronica looked at Tessa. “I know you.”

“I went to college with your sister.”

“You lived in town, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“You’ve seen my sister?” Veronica asked.

“Yes.”

“Is it her?”

“Yes,” Tessa said.

“You’re wrong,” Veronica said. “How long has it been since you two saw each other? Twelve years?”

“If you’ll follow me, Ms. Hayes,” Dr. Kincaid interjected.

Shaking her head again, Veronica followed, her high heels clipping the tiled floor in firm taps. They entered an exam room. No instruments were on display, and the stainless-steel sinks glistened. In the center of the room was a gurney and on it a draped body.

Veronica stopped in her tracks, her body stiffening.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Dr. Kincaid asked. “We made a positive identification from her fingerprints.”

“I need to see her,” Veronica said. Some of the conviction in her voice had vanished.

Dr. Kincaid moved to the head of the table. She hesitated only a moment before she peeled back the sheet. The bandages had been stripped from the face, making the healing tattoos appear all the more raw and angry.

Veronica didn’t speak but stared at the face for a long time. “Shit. This cannot be happening. She was only thirty years old.”

So was Diane. And Kara had only been eighteen.

“I’ll meet with your police sketch artist,” Veronica said. Her voice was raw with emotion. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”




He stood in his studio, a strong drink in his hand as he looked at the empty chair that was supposed to be holding his precious Harmony. He shouldn’t have lost his temper with her. God, he’d put so much work into her and if he’d been careful and patient, he could have fixed the damage she’d created.

“Damn.”

He missed her so much that he’d turned on her phone this morning and scrolled through her pictures. He’d read her sister’s frantic texts. “It shouldn’t be this way, Harmony.”

Years ago, he’d acted rashly with his first doll. He’d been watching her for weeks and each night he burned to touch her and remake her into a sweet doll.

She’d been walking home, her body swaying. She was dizzy from her drink. A drink he’d spiked. He’d been ready to offer her help as she approached an intersection. And then the car had hit her.

He could still picture her body flying like a rag doll onto the hood of the car. A woman nearby screamed. People ran to her aid.

So he’d backed away, terrified. He couldn’t be associated with this. Knox would find out. So he’d returned to the party, shaken and anxious. Then he’d seen the other doll.

Kara had been drunk. She walked erratically. She was defenseless. And it bothered him that someone else might take advantage. So he followed her.

He didn’t dare touch her or come too close until she turned onto a darkened side street. It was providence. She was walking toward him. And when she tripped, just feet away from the van, he knew she was meant to be his.

“Kara,” he said.

She struggled to right herself, swayed, and turned, smiling. “Hey, do I know you?”