Pretty Girls Dancing(65)

She leaned in to read the list in his hand, close enough that her hair tickled his jaw. Dropping the papers, Mark lurched from his chair as though he’d been scorched. “We need to nail down the date DeVries was there, see if it correlates.” Even if the times coincided, it didn’t tie the man to Willard’s disappearance. Or Whitney’s.

But it would be another connection, and add to the mountain of explaining the man had to do.

He pulled out his cell, checked the time. “I have to call home.” Even if Kelli wasn’t exactly communicative lately, he wanted to talk to Nicky before his son went to bed.

“Go ahead. I’m going to change into something more comfortable. I assume it’ll be another late night.”

The words gave his feet wings. He practically ran for the adjoining door that led to his room. His hand was on the knob when Sloane said, “Give my regards to your wife.”

The words transported him to the last time the two of them had worked a case. When their focus had switched from the investigation to each other. A mental picture flashed across his mind. The two of them on the bed, bodies tangled, clothes pooled on the floor. His last remaining brain cell was all that had prevented him from making the biggest mistake of his life. And as he’d rolled off the mattress, headed to his room, she’d uttered the same remark. Give my regards to your wife.

Mark responded the way he should have then. “Go to hell, Sloane.”





Whitney DeVries

November 12

6:12 p.m.

“Much better, Whitney. I applaud the way you kept your word and tried harder today.”

She kept her head down so he wouldn’t see the hatred that would surely show on her face. “Thank you.”

“Thank you . . . what?”

Her teeth ground. She had to choke the words out. “Thank you . . . Daddy.” A wave of revulsion swept over her. As if she could ever be related to this monster. She’d say whatever was necessary to spare herself another whipping. But still . . . every time she called him by the name he insisted on, it felt like a betrayal to her real family. Who were still alive. Since last night, she’d grown more convinced of that by the minute. The words Kelsey Willard had written had been echoing in her brain all day. Had stoked the growing conviction that the freak had constructed an elaborate lie. One guaranteed to make Whitney feel alone. Desolate. With no one else to rely on.

She hated him more for that than for anything else. Even the beatings.

“I realize that this routine is more difficult. But you’re so accomplished, I skipped a couple of films to provide you with a challenge. Had it proven too much for you, I would have moved you back. But your effort today proved that my first inclination was correct. You have a natural ability that’s rare. Innate talent can make up for a lack of training, although you had that, as well.” A thread of disapproval entered his voice. “I would never have allowed you to squander that by quitting your lessons. But that’s a moot point now.”

Despair filtered through her. She tried to think about her family. About the people who would be looking for her. Her dad was a deputy. The whole sheriff’s office would be helping search. But she had no idea where she was. How long she’d been unconscious before she’d awakened in this place. Had it been hours? Days? She could have been taken across the country. A shuddering breath lodged in her throat at the thought.

“Although film is not as interactive as a live teacher, you can be assured you’re receiving the finest instruction.”

A memory stirred. Maybe learning all about him will get me out. Kelsey had been right. The more details she could find out about the freak, the better. Perhaps she’d be able to figure out where they were from something he shared. “Did your mother make these films while she was still in New York City?” He’d said she’d been a ballerina there. Were they in New York now?

“No. She made them so my sister could practice even when Mother was gone. She worked quite hard to provide for both of us. I helped out by doing all the chores around the house. That sort of work ethic is sorely lacking in children today.”

If kids are so rotten, why do you keep kidnapping them? she thought mutinously. Two of them at least. What had happened to Kelsey Willard? What was his plan after ripping them from their homes? A trickle of fear snaked down her spine.

“Children these days take too much for granted,” he lectured. “Even their families.” She watched his shadowy outline, trying to get an idea of how tall he was. How big. If she wasn’t able to see his face, it would help to at least observe his general height and weight. But his shadow against the backdrop of lighting from the computer screen and projector was elongated. Narrow. It would be hard to get an accurate idea of his appearance from it.

Somehow she thought he knew that, too. “Once children are old enough, they should contribute to the family unit. Love and acceptance must be earned. If you learn your lessons well enough, perhaps in time you will be given that opportunity with our family.”

Our. Her mind seized on the word. Were there others here, then? Perhaps Kelsey wasn’t dead or escaped. Maybe she’d “graduated” to another space in this man’s house. The thought didn’t make Whitney feel any better. It wasn’t just freedom from this dungeon she wanted, but escape from the freak altogether. She wanted to go home.