Lisa Jackson's Bentz And Montoya Bundle Part 124

She didn't remember leaving Charlotte here, and she'd been up here long after she'd had any interest in rag dolls. This one had been sewn and stuffed by her grandmother. Nana had even made a blue dress and pinafore, then braided the doll's brown hair and added a hat, as if she were a small girl at the turn of the century.

Now, as she edged closer, Eve noticed that Charlotte's hat was tossed to one side, its ribbon ties askew. The doll's braids had been clipped off and tossed away as well, leaving her plump head practically bald. Worse yet, Charlotte's arms and legs were spread wide, and the hem of her dress was raised over her waist and fixed with a rubber band. Her panties were pulled down to the tops of her felt shoes, and her faded pink b.u.t.t was sticking upward in the air in some weird pose.

"Sick," Eve said, knowing she had never left Charlotte in such disarray. It was s.e.xual and freaky and, she knew from her studies, the work of a psychopath. Her stomach turned, and a deep, clawing fear curled through her guts. As hot and stifling as it was up here, Eve was suddenly cold to the bone.

Who had been playing and had left Charlotte like this? One of the mentally unstable boys who was a patient at the asylum years ago?

Was this just a tormented soul's idea of a joke?

No, Eve, this isn't random!

You know it.

Someone left the doll positioned this way on purpose. And they wanted someone, probably you, to find her.

Her mouth went dry. She swallowed back her fear and inched closer to the sleeping bag then reached down and turned Charlotte over.

As she did, her blood ran cold.

A scream worked its way up her throat and ended in a terrified gasp.

Charlotte's b.u.t.ton eyes had been clipped off, her pinafore slashed with jagged cuts made by pinking shears, and she'd been mutilated across her belly, the number 444 scrawled in blood-red ink.

And below the numbers was a single word.

EVE.

CHAPTER 19.

Eve dropped the doll as if it had burned her fingers.

"Oh G.o.d, oh G.o.d, oh G.o.d," she said, backing toward the top of the staircase. Who would do such a thing? What sick mind would- Briiing!

Her cell phone shrilled, and her heart nearly stopped. Scrambling for the d.a.m.ned thing, she pulled it out of the backpack and noticed that no number showed on the screen. Restricted call. Restricted call.

Oh h.e.l.l!

It rang again, and she, paralyzed, thought about turning the d.a.m.ned thing off. Don't answer it. Don't answer it.

She clicked on the b.u.t.ton.

Lifted the phone to her ear.

Didn't say a word.

"Heeeee'sssss freeee..."

She slammed the phone shut and spun, the fading light from her flashlight splas.h.i.+ng on the walls and underside of the roof where tiny nails poked through the ceiling. The person on the other end of the phone had known she was here, had realized she'd found the doll. She was certain of it. She reached into her backpack and withdrew a screwdriver, one of her grandfather's tools. Her fingers wrapped around the grip, and, heart hammering, sweat staining her clothes, she searched all of the dusty corners, the hidden spots of the attic.

He's not up here...remember? He's a floor below. You saw his shadow.

She trained her flashlight on the doorway at the top of the stairs, the only entrance to the garret.

Heart in her throat, she waited, inching her way toward the door and the brick chimney. If she could hide to one side of it, when the psycho entered and stepped into the room, she could shoot past him, fly down the stairs, lock the door, and run to the fire escape and safety...

Or you could dial 911 now!

Even if the killer didn't appear, you could show the police the doll.

And then what?

So someone messed with an old, forgotten toy.

She was the one who had trespa.s.sed.

She was the one who had broken into the hospital.

She was the one who, even now, had a stolen file in her backpack. No, she couldn't let panic overtake her...She had to fight the anxiety.

Crouched by the chimney with its rough bricks and crumbling mortar, she turned off her flashlight and waited, hardly daring to breathe. Panic stormed through her. Her head began to pound.

Straining to listen, she silently counted. One One...two...three...four...

Drops of sweat slid down her forehead and nose....five...six...

She blinked.

Her breath came in panicked, wild little gasps.

Seven...

Creak!

Oh Jesus, was that a footstep?

Her heart began knocking out of control. Someone was in the hospital with her.

She caught her breath.

Strained to listen.

Nearly screamed when she saw a mouse dart across the floorboards.

Another footstep.

Her fingers tightened around the screwdriver. Could she use it? d.a.m.ned straight!

Give me strength.

More footsteps. Climbing faster now, no more hesitation.

He knew she was trapped!

A looming dark shape appeared in the doorway.

Every muscle bunched, she was ready to spring. One more step, you son of a b.i.t.c.h, just take one more step. One more step, you son of a b.i.t.c.h, just take one more step.

"Eve!" a strong male voice echoed through the attic.

She nearly broke down completely. "Cole?" she whispered, and her voice was little more than a whimper.

"Where the h.e.l.l are you?"

"Here!" She flung herself at him, her arms circling his neck as she collapsed against him.

"Hey!"

A part of her screamed, The last time you were in a dark, scary place, he raised his gun and...No! The last time you were in a dark, scary place, he raised his gun and...No!

She wouldn't believe it and nearly sobbed when she felt his strong arms wrap around her.

"Shh...darlin', what?" he said against her hair. "What the h.e.l.l are you doin' here?"

She nearly laughed. Her nerves were strung to the breaking point, and she needed release...laughter, tears...any kind of relief. Instead, she kissed him. Hard. Anxiously. Fervently. On the lips.

His response was immediate. His arms tightened, his hands splayed over her back, and his mouth molded to hers eagerly.

Desperately she clung to him and slowly, oh so slowly, her reason began to return. She was holding Cole and kissing him and practically lying down for him on this hard, dirty, vermin-infested attic floor.

Slowly she pulled away, stepping out of his embrace and running a hand through her hair as she caught her breath and grabbed hold of her runaway emotions.

"Change your mind?" he said, his voice a little raspy.

"You were lucky.... You, um, you almost ended up with a screwdriver through your neck."

"From whom?" he asked, then guessed, "You? No way."

"I was pretty freaked out," she said shakily.

"If this is the reception I get, maybe you should be freaked out more often."

"No thanks." She flipped on her flashlight and shot the pale beam at his face. "How did you know I was here?"

"I followed you."

"What?"

"Didn't I tell you I thought we should camp out together?"

"I thought you were going to the police station." She drew a breath, collecting her thoughts. "Wait a minute. How did you follow me?"

"You were trying to contact the Mother Superior. This hospital is connected to the case."

"But how would you know? Why now? Why here?"

Cole seemed to come to a decision. "Since I'm trying like h.e.l.l to make you trust me, I guess I've got to come clean. I put a bug on your car."

"What? You're kidding. Cole, you did not not put some kind of electronic device on..." She could hardly speak. "This is...this is like stalking. You can't just go around and...and invade my privacy-" put some kind of electronic device on..." She could hardly speak. "This is...this is like stalking. You can't just go around and...and invade my privacy-"

"While you're breaking and entering?"

"Don't turn this around."

He laughed. "Come on, let's get out of here." He slung an arm around her shoulders.

She tried to hang on to her sense of injustice. It was far better than grat.i.tude...or fear.... "Don't try to talk your way out of this, Counselor," she said. "Um, there's something I think you should see." Using her flashlight to illuminate the way, she led him to the corner with the sleeping bag and Charlotte.

He stared down at the doll. "What the h.e.l.l is this?"

"A message, I think. I saw it, then started to leave, and my cell rang. He said it again: He's free He's free. It was almost as if he knew I was in here looking at Charlotte."

"Charlotte?"

"That's what I called her. My grandmother made her for me years ago, and I thought she was locked in a trunk at the house. Nana insisted I save her for my own daughter if I ever have one. I hadn't seen the doll in forever."

"You're sure it's the same one?"

"Oh yeah. Charlotte's an original."

He bent down on one knee and, using a rag he found near the sleeping bag, picked up the doll gingerly, looking at her and the message slashed across her body. "Your name."

Eve nodded, looking away from the tortured doll.

"Who knew about this place?"

"I...I don't know.... Some of the kids who lived here, I guess, and I imagine the nuns knew what was going on. My dad even got wind of it and had a fit, which my brothers found particularly vindicating."

"So they knew about it too?"

"Eventually, yes...and, well, I left all this stuff up here. Anyone who came up here over the last twenty years could figure out that I'd been here. I think I left some books with my name up here and, oh G.o.d, maybe even a diary." She played the beam of the flashlight over the area under the window, where some old comic books and paperbacks were flung. "There's my old English/Spanish dictionary." Cole picked the book up. Inside the flap in girlish handwriting was the name Eve Renner.

"So, how did he lure you to the attic?"