One day, it will make sense .
He slurped the last drop and stood up from the table. “Thank you, sweetheart. That was fun.”
“You’re welcome.” Her voice was calm and sweet, that of an angel. She placed the dirty dishes in a separate pile from the clean ones and resumed her play.
He didn’t know how he would ever explain the events that transpired that one terrible night. How does a father tell his child that someone intends them perverse harm? How can I articulate that Caroline’s death was not the worst-case scenario? He wanted Josie to sleep peacefully through the nights, not scared that someone was after her. She would find out eventually. That was certain. But doing it the right way—a way that wouldn’t haunt her dreams—was the hard part. But the truth was, she had every right to be afraid.
Chapter Twelve
O n the outskirts of Hiawatha, Kansas, Ricky waited anxiously in his cargo van. His next move was only minutes away.
Three weeks had crawled by since his failed attempt to abduct Caroline and Josie. Under normal circumstances, he would not have chosen another victim so quickly. He preferred to savor his prize, reliving the sexual humiliation and pain he put her through. Video footage, horrendously graphic pictures, and memorized physical sensations were all exceedingly erotic. He typically spent weeks wallowing in the success. The selection of a new target was sacred. His prize couldn’t just be anybody. He wanted someone who was somebody.
The attempt in Ruidoso and news of Caroline’s death drove him mad. He needed stimulation and hadn’t gotten it. His ravenous appetite had brought him to the precipice of gratification, only to have the bottom fall out at the last second. Now, angry with himself and his pent-up desires, he was thirsty. He needed a quickie, someone to soothe the burn, absorb his toxic current, and quench the thirst.
Well-manicured, spindly fingers stroked the soft fur of his new puppy. Kansas . He had decided to name the seven-week-old golden retriever mix in honor of the locale. You’ll do just perfectly .
After several days of observation, he realized the need for a lure. Nothing came to mind until he saw a sign. “Free Puppies.” He couldn’t resist. It was perfect, and the little guy was so cute.
It was time to go over the plan. As was his custom, he had already been through it more than he could remember. He even did a dry run, but repetition never hurt. Her mom drops her off from Little Dribbler practice at five thirty. She gets a snack and plays in the backyard while the babysitter sits at the computer. As soon as they’re both in place, I’ll go .
He fired the engine and drove out of the Walmart parking lot. The white van was ordinary, common with an aluminum extension ladder tied to the top. He was just another handyman, plumber, painter, or electrician.
He went to the babysitter’s street and parked a few houses down. Any minute now. Any minute . Right on cue, a tan Chevy Tahoe came around the corner and pulled into the driveway. Becky Davis left the engine running and walked her seven-year-old daughter, Bailey, to the front door.
From the van, he could only watch. It didn’t matter. The routine was always the same. Bailey had her bag and went inside. Casey, the high school-aged babysitter, listened to a few words of instruction and nodded in agreement. A ponytail pulled high on her head bobbed up and down. Becky turned on her heels, walked back to the Tahoe, and drove away. She wouldn’t return from the country club until ten o’clock.
“Perfect,” he said aloud. Every detail was just as he knew it would be.
A half hour later, little Bailey appeared inside the chain-link fence of the backyard and began shooting hoops. She bounced around, dribbled, and juked to improve her skills. Waves of flaxen hair followed every motion, propelled by a tan body from afternoons at the city pool. A low basketball goal hung over a cement slab. She went back there
He slurped the last drop and stood up from the table. “Thank you, sweetheart. That was fun.”
“You’re welcome.” Her voice was calm and sweet, that of an angel. She placed the dirty dishes in a separate pile from the clean ones and resumed her play.
He didn’t know how he would ever explain the events that transpired that one terrible night. How does a father tell his child that someone intends them perverse harm? How can I articulate that Caroline’s death was not the worst-case scenario? He wanted Josie to sleep peacefully through the nights, not scared that someone was after her. She would find out eventually. That was certain. But doing it the right way—a way that wouldn’t haunt her dreams—was the hard part. But the truth was, she had every right to be afraid.
Chapter Twelve
O n the outskirts of Hiawatha, Kansas, Ricky waited anxiously in his cargo van. His next move was only minutes away.
Three weeks had crawled by since his failed attempt to abduct Caroline and Josie. Under normal circumstances, he would not have chosen another victim so quickly. He preferred to savor his prize, reliving the sexual humiliation and pain he put her through. Video footage, horrendously graphic pictures, and memorized physical sensations were all exceedingly erotic. He typically spent weeks wallowing in the success. The selection of a new target was sacred. His prize couldn’t just be anybody. He wanted someone who was somebody.
The attempt in Ruidoso and news of Caroline’s death drove him mad. He needed stimulation and hadn’t gotten it. His ravenous appetite had brought him to the precipice of gratification, only to have the bottom fall out at the last second. Now, angry with himself and his pent-up desires, he was thirsty. He needed a quickie, someone to soothe the burn, absorb his toxic current, and quench the thirst.
Well-manicured, spindly fingers stroked the soft fur of his new puppy. Kansas . He had decided to name the seven-week-old golden retriever mix in honor of the locale. You’ll do just perfectly .
After several days of observation, he realized the need for a lure. Nothing came to mind until he saw a sign. “Free Puppies.” He couldn’t resist. It was perfect, and the little guy was so cute.
It was time to go over the plan. As was his custom, he had already been through it more than he could remember. He even did a dry run, but repetition never hurt. Her mom drops her off from Little Dribbler practice at five thirty. She gets a snack and plays in the backyard while the babysitter sits at the computer. As soon as they’re both in place, I’ll go .
He fired the engine and drove out of the Walmart parking lot. The white van was ordinary, common with an aluminum extension ladder tied to the top. He was just another handyman, plumber, painter, or electrician.
He went to the babysitter’s street and parked a few houses down. Any minute now. Any minute . Right on cue, a tan Chevy Tahoe came around the corner and pulled into the driveway. Becky Davis left the engine running and walked her seven-year-old daughter, Bailey, to the front door.
From the van, he could only watch. It didn’t matter. The routine was always the same. Bailey had her bag and went inside. Casey, the high school-aged babysitter, listened to a few words of instruction and nodded in agreement. A ponytail pulled high on her head bobbed up and down. Becky turned on her heels, walked back to the Tahoe, and drove away. She wouldn’t return from the country club until ten o’clock.
“Perfect,” he said aloud. Every detail was just as he knew it would be.
A half hour later, little Bailey appeared inside the chain-link fence of the backyard and began shooting hoops. She bounced around, dribbled, and juked to improve her skills. Waves of flaxen hair followed every motion, propelled by a tan body from afternoons at the city pool. A low basketball goal hung over a cement slab. She went back there
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