Pretty Stolen Dolls (25 page)

“I’m not coming back,” I hiss, desperately trying to keep the wobble out of my voice.

“Don’t you miss her?”

Tears well in my eyes and I blink them away quickly so I can see the road. “So much.” A whisper is all I can manage.

“What about him? Do you miss him?” There’s a jealous bite to his tone. How he knows about Dillon and me is surprising. What if he’s been in my home?

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I snap.

He barks out a laugh. “Are you not curious how I got your phone number? Your little boyfriend. I keep waiting for you to call him, but you don’t. Seems he’s as disposable to you as we were—I was. I suppose I hurt him for no reason then.”

“What have you done?”

The line is silent a moment and I fear he’s hung up. Finally, he breathes heavily into the receiver. “I needed a boy doll to add to my collection.”

A tear streaks down my cheek.

I’m poison.

This dark cloud called Benny follows me wherever I go, wreaking havoc on the lives in my world.

“Let him go…”

“He shouldn’t have preyed on you when you were a little girl. I remember that picture with his scrawny arm slung over your shoulder like he owned you. Sick fuck,” he seethes.

All thoughts of Dillon dissipate.

Bo.

No!

“I bet he couldn’t wait to swoop in and prey on your loneliness,” he snarls. “Did you miss me? I missed you.”

“Don’t hurt him. Benny, please.”

“
Benjamin!
Benjamin!
Benjamin!
”

“I’m sorry,” I choke in defeat, once again back to the broken doll he made me.

“Not yet, but you will be.”

“Please, Benjamin.”

“Goodbye, dirty little doll,” he growls. “I’ll be coming for you soon.”

When I pull into the Stop N Save parking lot not even five minutes later, I know it’s too late. He’s gone. I clamber out of my vehicle with my gun raised and run to the payphone. Hot tears roll from my eyes as I let out a sob of defeat. There’s a burner phone propped up on loud speaker with the payphone next to it.

He wasn’t here the whole time we spoke. I never had a chance at getting here in time to catch him.

Bastard.

Bo.

I’m still standing guard, protecting my crime scene, when three squad cars and Dillon’s unmarked Crown Vic squeal into the parking lot.

“There,” I point at the payphone, my entire body shaking. “Check for prints and then find the bastard in the system.”

Two strong arms pull me against a solid chest and I collapse as he holds me tight.

“Shhh,” he murmurs into my hair. “I have you. You’re safe now.”

Our colleagues process the scene while Dillon coaxes information out of me. I relay the entire conversation, detail by detail. When I finish and meet his gaze, he’s frowning.

“Baby…” he trails off.

Even now, stressed to the max, his word soothes me. “What?”

He closes his eyes for a moment before meeting me with a sad gaze. “The woman, the witnesses at the hospital from the hit-and-run vic…she described a black truck. Even remembered part of the license plate and gave it to the staff at the hospital. It didn’t take long to see who the truck belonged to.” He swallows hard.

“And?”

“Did you recognize it at all?” His brow is furrowed and he’s holding onto me like I’m about to crumble.

I am.

“Uh, it happened too fast,” I say, my voice hoarse. “I was in shock. The truck was too far ahead by the time I gave chase. Why?”

“Bo. Jade, the truck is registered to your ex fiancé, Bo.” His groan is one of frustration. “Unless he hit him and hasn’t come forward yet, it’s looking likely that Benny really does have him. I’m so sorry.”

C
RUISERS LINE THE DIRT ROAD
leading up to Bo’s and my parents’ house. A frantic Maureen is holding her ankle biter dog and shaking her head. When she sees me coming, she rushes over to me, dropping the puppy to the grass.

She pulls me in for a hug, even though I don’t think she’s ever really approved of Bo and me. I was too damaged for her liking of a daughter-in-law.

“What’s going on, Jade?” she questions, wrinkles of worry marring her forehead. “Where’s Bo?”

Her new pup licks at Dillon’s boot and he frowns down at it.

“When was the last time you saw Bo, Maureen?” I question.

She shakes her head and shrugs her shoulders. “I haven’t seen him for weeks, but that’s not unusual. He spends all his time with you or at work.”

She doesn’t know we broke up.

Shit.

So, he never came here?

“The work colleague,” Dillon mumbles in my ear.

“And he sent that nice man here with my present.”

Both Dillon and I freeze. “What present?”

She points down to the puppy, now hiking a leg up to pee on Dillon’s boot. He shoos it away before it can, but it doesn’t want to go. Bending down, I grasp the fur ball and lift him. His tongue snakes out and licks at my face.

“Hey, little guy.”

“Who was the man? Can you walk me through what happened?” Dillon asks her, coming to stand in front of her, partially blocking me. She holds her face, anxiety building in her features.

“He was handsome with unruly hair and mesmerizing eyes,” she reveals. “He said the puppy was a gift from my Bo.”

The puppy’s collar has a dangling nametag that catches my eye.

“Dillon,” I breathe.

He glances at me over his shoulder and I hold the tag up for him to see.

DOLLY.

“Bo knows how hard it was on us when our old dog, Toby, passed away,” she tells us sadly, but then furrows her brows at me. “Jade, what is it? What’s going on? Where is my Bo?”

“Did you name him?” I gesture to the puppy.

Her eyes narrow as she watches someone behind me. “Why are there people looking around my property? I don’t understand.”

“Maureen, please listen to me,” I bark out. “Can you tell me if you named the puppy?”

“No, it’s a girl. She came with the nametag. I thought it was a little insensitive of Bo with everything that went on with you and your poor sister, but…” she trails off.

My head spins as vomit threatens to spill.

“He said you sent a gift for your parents also. I haven’t seen them, though…”

The world around me dips and then expands.

No.

“Jade,” Dillon warns, but it’s too late. My body is working on its own accord. Dropping the puppy to his feet, I take off running.

“Jade!” Dillon’s voice booms. Everything seems to drag into slow motion around me as I sprint toward the small house ten yards to the left.

“Jade! Stop her! Someone grab her!”

I dart past the hands reaching out for me and ignore the humming of activity behind me.

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

Reaching the door, I skid to a halt and just stand there, gasping for air. My ribs protest the run, but the pain is irrelevant. I grab for the door handle and it gives under my weight.

No.

Pushing it open, I hear footfalls behind me.

“Everyone back off, back off,” Dillon warns as his heat blasts over me from behind.

“Please, let me go in, Jade.”

“I need to know they’re okay. They have to be,” I tell him, but I don’t recognize my own voice. It’s distorted, deep and broken.

“I can do that,” he says with a crack in his voice. “Let me do that for you.” His hands come down on my shoulders, but I shrug him off and step inside. The scent of lilies that always hits you in the face when you first walk into my parents’ home doesn’t fill my senses. Instead, a stomach churning scent hits me and makes me retch.

“Jade,” Dillon mutters again, his voice pained.

Every movie tells you a dead body stinks of the worst cesspool you can imagine, but the truth is, it’s a distinct, weird smell—chemicals and decomposed fruit. It’s not pleasant; it’s harsh and potent and the very thought of what it is you’re inhaling into your nose cavity is sickening.

My feet tread small steps into the living space.

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

My dad’s chair comes into view. It’s positioned to face the TV—the way it always has been. The television flickers with the news channel, but there’s no sound and something is written in blood red on the screen.

MONSTERS ARE HERE!

“Daddy,” I weep, tears building and falling from my eyes as I step closer.

My heart thunders over the sound of Dillon trying to get me to stop from going any farther, but it’s like my mind has to see—has to know this is real.

My hand shakes as I reach and touch the fabric of the chair. I spin and the weight hinders it.

“Jade, baby, please.”

Stepping around the chair, my entire world crashes down around me. I collapse to the floor with a fragmented wail. “No! Oh God, no!”

He’s so blue. I reach for his hand, but snatch it back when the cold ice of death’s sting ignites up my fingertips. “He took his eyes,” I choke. There are two bloody holes where his hazel eyes should be and a crimson river from the wound on his neck.

“Where’s Mom?” I hiss into the putrid air. Clambering to my feet, I begin to search frantically.

“M-Mom…Mom…Mommy?”

I push door after door open until I stop at her bedroom.

After I shove through the door, my eyes automatically close in an effort to remove the image from my sight forever. Instead, I think it burns into my soul for eternity. I pop my eyes back open and survey what that monster did to her.

Dressed like one of Benny’s dolls, Mom sits upright on the bed, her arms splayed wide, limp wrists sliced open, and the veins attached like strings on the bed post.

“Motherfucker!” Dillon hisses from behind me.

“He made his very own marionette doll,” I breathe.

“Come on,” he growls, “I’m getting you out of here.”

Nothing feels real, like I’m touching the ground but there’s no gravity keeping me bound to it. I’m floating, numb, and in a state of disbelief.

“Detective Scott!” a deep voice barks somewhere in the house for my partner, but it’s disjointed and distant.

Dillon drags me back through the house. Maureen is hollering my name and then that puppy rushes into the house, wagging its tail.

“Someone get that dog!” Dillon roars. “Everyone else stay out and call forensics. This is a crime scene.” He attempts to hold me together in his strong arms and the moment he lets go, I know I’ll come apart completely.

My eyes zero in on the stupid puppy.
Stop…stop…
“Stop it…STOP IT!” I scream as it laps at the blood at my dad’s feet.

Dillon scoops up the dog and I run from the house, pushing past the gathering crowd of agents and neighbors. I empty the contents of my stomach with violent heaves onto the green lawn Daddy was so proud of.

“He’s escalating rapidly, evolving,” Detective Jefferson states, scratching his beard. “He doesn’t have any victims over the age of twenty-three and the last vic was raped. That’s new.”

“What?” I croak, standing straight and wiping the sick from my lips with the back of my hand.

Jefferson looks at me with drawn in brows and a down-turned lip. “I’m sorry for your loss, Phillips.”

“No,” I hiss, “go back to what you just said. Rape is new for him?”