Seconds to Live (Scarlet Falls #3)(2)

She hadn’t lasted two full days. Her breakdown had been mental rather than physical.

He liked the dark, but it terrified her. He’d discovered that immediately. Left with only her imagination to entertain her, and encouraged by the welcome reception in the room down the hall, she was drowning in her own fear. Endless hours of complete darkness, a ration of pain, and isolation had brought her will to live to its knees.

Even though he’d expected it, Missy’s failure weighed on him. The disappointment was crushing. How would he continue?

How could he not?

He had a mission. She’d had her chance to prove herself, but she hadn’t been able to stay the course. Somewhere out there was The One who could pass the test, handle the punishment earned. But it wasn’t Missy.

She deserved her end as much as the pain he’d inflicted as her penance. She occupied the bottom of the humanity barrel. He was doing the world a great service by ridding it of her and others of her kind.

“You can’t leave me in here any longer.” She lurched to her feet, lunged across the room, and slapped the door. “You promised. You said that if I cooperated, if I did what you wanted, that it would be over.”

He froze. She was right. This wasn’t her fault. She couldn’t change her nature, couldn’t make herself more than she was. He should have known when she hadn’t fought him. He should have known then she wasn’t special. That she would fail his test.

That she wasn’t The One.

He glanced back at the dark screen, the green-tinted eyes that stared into the lens. Unlike her stay, her death would be painless. A promise was a promise, and he was a man of his word, even if a more violent death was completely justified.

It didn’t matter. He was done with her. Unlike her abduction, which had been filled with hope and promise, her disposal was simply a chore. But did it have to be? Could the end be just as fulfilling as the beginning?

She could still be of use to him. Though her trial had been a failure, her death needn’t be in vain. Her last act on this earth could serve a purpose.

His purpose.

She could relay his message. But how?

He continued on his way, his step quicker, his mood lighter.

This one might not have been The One, but that special someone was still out there, waiting.





Chapter Two


Monday, June 20, four p.m., Scarlet Falls, NY

Detective Stella Dane could smell the body from the street.

Just a faint whiff, but the presence of it told her the corpse wasn’t fresh. Even in a heat wave like the freakish one currently suffocating upstate New York, it took a day or so for a corpse to reek.

She closed the driver’s side door of the dark blue, dented sedan assigned to her when she’d been promoted to detective six months before.

The senior detective on the SFPD, Brody McNamara, climbed out of the passenger seat. He sniffed, and a frown creased his lean, tanned face. “This is when I miss winter.”

The afternoon sun beat down on the top of her head as they walked past a line of emergency vehicles toward the baseball diamond. Three patrol officers secured the scene. Behind the medical examiner’s van, Dr. Frank Jenkins and his assistant donned personal protective equipment: coveralls, boots, gloves. Next to the CSI van, a three-member county forensics team suited up in their own PPEs. A local news crew cruised onto the street and parked at the curb.

Wonderful. The vultures had already found the carcass.

“Detective Dane!”

Stella ignored the reporter’s shout. What could she tell him? She hadn’t even seen the body yet.

In the small parking lot, a middle-aged man sat on the rear bumper of a minivan. He leaned forward, forearms propped on his thighs, his face hanging over his splayed legs. Sweat beaded on his bald spot. Squatting in front of him, an EMT offered him a bottle of water. Without straightening, the man shook his head. The EMT placed the bottle at his feet.

A uniformed officer approached Stella and Brody. He nodded toward the minivan. “Body was found by Ron Taggert. He’s a Little League coach. He arrived at the field to set up for his team’s practice, saw the dead woman in the dugout, and called nine-one-one.”

“You want to see the body first or talk to the coach?” Stella asked Brody.

The officer lowered his voice. “Mr. Taggert’s pretty shook up. The puddle of vomit next to the dugout is his. The EMTs wanted to take him to the hospital, but he declined.”

Brody cast the man a sympathetic glance. “Normally I’d like to see the body first, but this heat is brutal. Let’s get the poor man out of here.”

They skirted a puddle and crossed the asphalt.

“You take the lead on this one,” Brody said. “You’re ready, and with Hannah’s father barely hanging on, I’ll probably be taking some personal leave in the next week or so.” Brody checked his phone.

“I’m sorry to hear about Hannah’s dad.” Stella thoroughly approved of Brody’s girlfriend, Hannah Barrett, and the thought of her losing her father brought back a wave of sorrow. Fifteen years after her own dad’s death, sudden reminders could still make Stella’s grief feel impossibly raw.

Brody nodded. “Thanks. He’s been sick a long time, but his death will still be hard on her.”

“I’m sure it will.”

The death of Hannah’s father would surely bring her younger brother back to town. The last Stella had heard, Mac Barrett was in Brazil. Not that she was keeping track of him. OK. She was. But thoughts of Mac, his lean body, and the clear blue eyes that spoke more than he did had no business at a death scene. Why couldn’t she be distracted by a man who didn’t spend half his time in South America?