New York to Dallas (In Death #33)(89)

“I can come back later. No point waking her up.”

“I’m awake.” Bree’s eyes fluttered open. “Sorry, I went out for a minute.” She sat up, took her sister’s hand.

It was like looking at slightly altered dupes, Eve thought. Not exact, not identical, but damn near.

“It’s like a replay,” Bree began. “It’s not, not even close for the two of us. But you came in the hospital room before.”

“And the two of you were in the same bed. I remember. You were asleep that time,” Eve said to Melinda.

“It was weeks before I could sleep without Bree holding on to me. You look tired.”

“I guess we all are.”

“Would you sit? We can get you some coffee, something to eat.”

“I grabbed something.” But she sat on the side of the bed as Melinda indicated. “Do you want to go over it again?”

“Darlie needs to. I used you and Bree, over and over, to give her hope, to give her something to hold on to. He didn’t rape me. He only hit me once in anger, and that was almost an afterthought. They kept me drugged at first, but I stopped drinking the water. He killed his partner. I saw—”

“Yes.”

“Sarajo—well, that’s how I knew her. I keep asking myself why I didn’t see she was a liar, that she’d duped me.”

“She was a pro.”

“I wanted to help her, and thought I had. When she contacted me again, so shaky, so urgent, I didn’t think twice. I played right into it.”

“Do you need me to tell you it’s not your fault?”

“No. I had plenty of time to replay it, rethink it. You have to trust, or you’re only living half a life. You have to try to help or even that half is empty. I believed her. I was concerned because I suspected she was on something, but I thought it was because she was so frightened. I let her into my car, I drove away from the diner where we’d agreed to meet because she asked me to. I pulled over because she asked me to.

“I never saw it coming. I felt it.” Melinda lifted a hand to the side of her neck. “And still I didn’t understand. Not until he was there. Right there.”

She closed her eyes a minute, then laid a hand over Eve’s. “I thought of you. Of Bree, then of you when I woke up in that room. In the dark, like before. But it wasn’t like before. I was alone, an adult.”

She opened her eyes. “This time I was bait. He made that clear, let me know he wasn’t interested in me like before. I wasn’t . . . fresh enough. He had her bring me food most of the time. Once she stood there, ate it in front of me. She hated me. I think she hated me most of all because I’d tried to help her.”

“Sick, twisted bitch,” Bree stated, and Eve said nothing. Could say nothing.

“She hated everything about me, and you,” Melinda said to Eve. “She taunted me with you. How they were going to lock you in there, how they were going to hurt you, teach you a lesson for what you did. How they were going to make a fortune selling you—Are you all right?” she asked when Eve jerked.

“Yeah. Fine.”

“I should’ve said pretending to sell you. I think she wanted you dead as much as he did, maybe more. She was obsessed with him. And couldn’t see, just couldn’t see how he despised her. She couldn’t see his contempt. He let me see it, like it was our little private joke. Then they brought Darlie.”

Tears shimmered now, and Bree brought Melinda’s hand to her cheek.

“He made sure I knew he was going after a girl—that’s a kind of torture. Sarajo threw her in after they’d finished with her. They left the lights on so I could see what they’d done to her.”

“Having you there helped her.”

“It’s a horrible thing, but having her helped me. Someone who needed me, someone I could comfort and counsel and tend to. When he came back for Darlie the next day, I did everything I could to distract him. She wasn’t there, the partner. I’d studied him, so I used that. I got him to talk to me—to converse. He enjoyed it, and sat there for a long time, showing off his knowledge of literature, art.”

“Did he tell you anything personal? Anything he planned, anything that could tell us where he’d go?”

“I don’t think so. It was all this lofty, cocktail-party sort of conversation. I kept it that way. I was afraid if I asked him anything, he’d remember Darlie.”

“What was he wearing?”

“Oh . . . ah.”

“Try to think back,” Eve prompted, “picture him there.”

“A crewneck with the sleeves pushed up. Very classic, and navy blue. Casual pants, but good ones. Buff colored, I think. Yes, with an embossed brown belt and silver buckle.” Her forehead creased as she concentrated. “Silver buckles on his shoes. They matched the belt. He had a leather sheath on the belt. Once I wondered if I could get him to come over, somehow get the knife out of the sheath.

“It had initials on it, the sheath. I’d forgotten that.”

“What initials?”

“His. I. M. I am,” she murmured. “He must love that.”

“On it,” Bree said before Eve could speak, and rolled out of bed, already pulling out her ’link.

“Did you notice anything else? Jewelry?”