One (Count to Ten Book 1) Page 9

  “I’ll start on the dishes,” David began to collect the plates and cutlery.

  When they reached Xavier’s car, she laid a hand on his shoulder, “Xavier, what happened with Julia wasn’t your fault. You know that, right? Even if you’d known about the rape, it doesn’t mean things would have worked out differently. Julia could have told you what happened, she could have told me what happened, she could have told anyone what happened. She chose not to; she chose to try to deal with things on her own. Even if you had known, it doesn’t mean things wouldn’t have ended the exact same way.”

  “I know all that,” Xavier nodded calmly.

  “You just don’t believe it, huh?” Before her partner could respond, she continued, “Look, when we find the guy who’s killing families,” emphasizing the when because she had to believe that they would indeed find him, “and if you still feel a connection to Annabelle, then ask her out. Maybe she’ll say yes, maybe she’ll say no, but either way at least you’ll know.” Kate still wasn’t sure that Xavier dating Annabelle was a good idea for either of them, but it was great to see him finally ready to think about moving on.

  “Yeah, I’ll think about it.” Xavier gently pulled free from her grasp. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “In the morning,” Kate echoed as she watched her partner’s car disappear down the street and wondered whether Xavier would ever get over what Julia had done.

  “Everything okay?” David slipped his arms around her, pulling her close against his chest and resting his chin on the top of her head.

  “Yeah,” she leaned back against him.

  “Did you tell him?”

  “No,” she admitted guilty.

  “You’re going to have to tell him eventually,” David reminded her. “This kind of secret can’t stay secret forever.”

  “I know,” she assured him. “It’s just that Xavier’s so confused and scared right now because he’s developing feelings for one of the victims in our case. And it just feels like everything is changing.” She wiggled around to rest her head on her husband’s chest. “I’m a little scared, too. I've wanted to be a cop my whole life, I have been a cop my whole adult life, it’s going to be weird having to take a break from work. I’m happy, but every time I think about telling Xavier I just chicken out, but I’ll do it. I promise, the next time I see Xavier, I’ll tell him about the baby.”

  * * * * *

  9:42 P.M.

  Annabelle couldn’t believe that this cold, dark house was her home. The home she had grown up in. The only home she had ever lived in.

  It had been a mistake coming back here so soon.

  She hadn’t really intended to. All through the day she had been adamant that she was ready to spend the night alone, but then when darkness had fallen, her resolve had cracked. She’d tried calling Ricky to ask him to come and spend the night at the motel with her again, but she hadn’t been able to reach him. Knowing that sometimes he went out the back to work in his shed, Annabelle decided she would head over there and maybe take her friend up on his offer to stay in his spare room.

  However, she hadn’t gotten that far yet.

  She took a cab to Ricky’s house, and as soon as she’d stepped out into the warm night she caught sight of her home. Now it had probably been close to half an hour that she had been standing in the street staring at her home and wondering how this horrible looking house could be the place she had lived in just days ago.

  It wasn’t that this house had always been a happy home. Growing up, she had spent many a day hiding out in her room as her parents had another one of their screaming matches. She’d spent many a day playing on her own because her brothers were too busy with each other. And many a night she had cried herself to sleep, feeling all alone in the world.

  Annabelle didn’t hate her parents; she just hated that they had spent the majority of her life forcing her to play referee in their fights. She didn’t hate her brothers either. She just wished that they had been closer, that she hadn’t always felt like the third wheel. And as for Katherine, Annabelle just wished that she had felt more like the little girl’s big sister and less like her mother.

  She’d resented the fact that she had been the one to keep her family running. As well as working full-time she did the cooking, the cleaning, the shopping, and cared for Katherine, while the rest of her family swanned around having fun and living their own lives. Annabelle was sad that her family was gone, but she wasn’t sure if it was because her loved ones were dead or because she had been left all alone or a combination of the two.

  She thought of the visit from the detectives this morning, and how safe and secure she’d felt in Detective Montague’s arms. But it was an illusion. Nothing more. She wasn’t safe. The man who had hurt her was still out there. The man who had murdered her family was still free to kill more people.

  In a trance, she crossed her front lawn, ignoring flashes of memories of playing out here on weekends when she was little, of climbing the big tree, of running through the sprinkler. Barely noticing the police tape that crisscrossed the door, she entered her home. In a daze, she wandered from room to room, surveying everything, but downstairs everything appeared to be as it usually was. Drawing a deep breath, she faced the stairs.

  Step by step she made her way up, coming to a stop when she reached the hallway.

  She shouldn’t be doing this.

  She shouldn’t be here in her home on her own.

  What she should do was walk back downstairs, out the front door and straight to Ricky’s house. Annabelle almost did it, but something was pulling her onwards. Almost against her will, she walked down the corridor. The doors were all open, and passing Katherine’s room she halted immediately, shocked at the blood that stained the floor and walls.

  There was so much blood.

  Too much.

  Katherine was only seven; there was too much blood for such a little girl. The bed had been stripped of sheets, blankets, pillow—all gone—but Annabelle guessed it, too, had been drenched in Katherine’s blood.

  Shaking badly, she wanted desperately to leave, but her feet had other ideas as they traipsed her across the hall and into her own room.

  The last thing she remembered before waking up with Detective Montague hovering above her was falling into bed uncharacteristically exhausted.

  When she caught sight of the blood staining her own mattress, the reality of all that had happened crashed down upon her.

  The tears that had refused to come earlier today now flowed freely as she burst into hysterical sobs and turned and fled the room. Almost tripping over her feet as she took the stairs two at a time, Annabelle headed straight for her father’s study, tucking herself away in the corner between his desk and the filing cabinet. Bringing her knees up against her chest, she wrapped her good arm tightly around them, and buried her head.

  It might have been minutes or hours that she sat there crying, but a sharp rapping on the door sent her instantly still.

  “Annabelle?”

  It was Detective Montague. The last person she wanted to see right now. What was he doing here anyway?

  “Annabelle, it’s Detective Montague. I know you’re in there. Open up.”

  Maybe if she stayed quiet, he would assume he was wrong and leave. What gave him the right to know where she was anyway?

  “Annabelle, are you okay?”

  Why couldn’t he just leave her alone?

  “Annabelle, I’m coming in.”

  A moment later she heard the door creak open and footsteps searching the house. Remaining as still and quiet as possible, she squeezed her eyes closed and prayed the detective would give up and go.

  When several minutes passed without another sound, Annabelle slowly crept out of her hiding place, grateful that at last something had gone her way. Intending to leave and go straight to Ricky’s, she hadn’t made it more than a step when she caught sight of a family portrait perched on her father’s desk. The portrait was old, taken jus
t after Katherine was born. In it her mother cradled her youngest child; ten-year-old Julian, thirteen-year-old Paul and her father had dressed in matching outfits; and Annabelle herself, aged sixteen, was smiling with the hope that a new baby would finally bring her family peace.

  The sight of the picture sent her into another fit of tears and she dropped to her knees. Baby Katherine hadn’t brought the Englewood family peace and now nothing ever could. She would never have an opportunity to make her family happy, or to tell them that she loved them. And she did—she did love them, she really did—no matter how crazy they drove her.

  “Come here.”

  Someone’s hands wrapped around her arms, drawing her to her feet. At first she thought it was Ricky, who had realized that she was here and that she needed him, and he’d come to help her, but then the voice clicked.

  It was Detective Montague again.

  He hadn’t left like she’d thought.

  She didn’t want this man here, in her house, even if it had been ruined beyond repair. Wildly she fought against him as he tried to embrace her, her sobs growing louder.

  “Shh, it’s okay, Annabelle,” Detective Montague refused to let go of her. “It’ll be okay; we’ll make it okay. Try to calm down. Everything will be all right, Belle.”

  Hearing him call her Belle immediately turned her to stone. Something from a long time ago, long since forgotten, sprung into her head.

  * * * * *

  10:10 P.M.

  Annabelle slumped silently in the passenger seat of his car.

  Xavier knew this was a bad idea and yet he was making no move to stop.

  Back at the Englewood house, when he’d gone inside, he hadn’t been able to find where Annabelle was hiding. So he had remained quiet, hoping she’d think he had left, until she’d crept out from a corner of the study.

  Xavier had watched as she caught sight of something in the room and collapsed to the carpet in a flood of tears. Without hesitation he had gone to her, pulling her up off the floor and into his arms. She had fought at first, beating at him with her small fists, but when he’d called her Belle she had gone completely still. He’d wondered whether that was perhaps a nickname her parents had used; but whatever the reason, it had worked like a charm.

  Holding a woman in his arms again after three long years had stirred up all sorts of feelings and longings that he had repressed. He’d enjoyed the way her forehead pressed against his chest and the soft whoosh of her breath against his neck, the sweet scent of her shampoo tickling his nose.

  Eventually he had pulled away and offered to take her back to the motel, but Annabelle had freaked out and begged him not to leave her alone. Instead she’d asked him to take her next door to her friend’s house, but when he’d thumped on the door, there was no answer.

  By the time he had decided Ricky Preston was either a very heavy sleeper or out, Annabelle had looked dead on her feet. So he’d taken her arm and led her back to his car, helped her into the passenger seat, buckled her in, and headed for his house.

  Casting a surreptitious glance in Annabelle’s direction, Xavier found himself admiring her thick, chocolate brown locks. Her hair hung to her shoulders and framed her pretty face. It looked so silky, so soft, that the desire to run his fingers through it was nearly overwhelming.

  What Kate had said tonight was all true. Xavier did know that what Julia had done wasn’t his fault, but sometimes knowing and believing were two different things. The fact that Julia had been hurt in the first place, however, most definitely was his fault. He should have made more of an effort to go home on the nights when he wasn’t holed up at work. If he had been at home, then Julia would never have been raped and the rest of those tragic events would have never happened. But Julia was gone now, she was no longer a part of his life. Annabelle, on the other hand, was right here, and she needed someone whether she wanted to admit it or not.

  All day he had been unable to forget how right it had felt cradling Annabelle in his arms when she’d almost fainted back at the motel this morning. He hadn’t wanted to leave her alone and had even contemplated calling her friend Ricky to go and check up on her.

  As he’d left Kate and David’s after dinner, pondering Kate’s words, he had driven around in circles for close to an hour before biting the bullet and heading for the motel. He hadn’t planned on staying long, or even necessarily letting Annabelle know he was there, he was just worried about her and wanted to check to make sure she was hanging in there. When he’d found her room empty, he had known exactly where she would be and driven straight out to the Englewood house.

  Xavier honestly felt like he was losing his mind.

  It made no sense for him to feel anything other than the usual compassion he felt when dealing with a victim of a violent crime. And yet, there was something about Annabelle Englewood that just wouldn’t leave him alone.

  Pulling into his drive and inside the garage, Xavier climbed out of the car, flipped on the light and then went to retrieve Annabelle. As he opened her door and unbuckled her seatbelt, she turned to look up at him with her enormous white eyes and his heart froze. This was a bad idea. It had to be. What was he thinking bringing her to his house?

  Too late to back out now, he forced himself to keep moving, he slid an arm under her knees and his other behind her back and lifted her from the car. She didn’t protest; in fact, she curled into him, wrapping her good arm around his neck and burying her face in the crook of his shoulder.

  Carrying her inside and upstairs, he kicked open the door to the spare bedroom opposite his room, and settled Annabelle on the bed. Xavier slipped off her shoes and tucked her in, brushing a tendril of hair off her forehead. He wanted to kiss her but knew it was a bad idea.

  “My room is right across the hall,” he told her. “If you need anything, just yell out and I’ll be right here.”

  He was just straightening up when she grabbed his hand. “Please don’t leave me alone,” she whispered.

  Squeezing her hand, he responded, “Okay, I won’t leave you,” he assured her. “I’ll sleep in the chair.” He started to release her hand but she clung on.

  “Could you talk to me?”

  “About what?” he asked, puzzled, wondering whether she wanted details on the case.

  “Can you…can you tell me about your childhood?” Annabelle asked, her bottom lip trembling.

  Catching the sad longing in her voice, Xavier wondered whether her childhood had been an unhappy one. “Sure,” he agreed. Fetching his desk chair, he brought it right over by the bed. As soon as he was seated, Annabelle reached for his hand once again, clutching it firmly.

  “Well, I was the product of a one-night stand,” he recounted. “Both my mom and dad were married to other people. They both had families, and one night when they were each going through a rough time they got drunk and had a one-night stand. In the morning they both regretted it, wanted to make things work with their respective partners, but it was too late, I had already been conceived. My mom and dad both confessed their indiscretions and remained with their families, but they both wanted to be a part of my life. So, growing up I spent half my time at my mom’s house with her and her husband and their four kids, and the other half with my dad and his wife and their two kids.”

  “Your mom and dad both loved you?” Annabelle asked sleepily, struggling to keep her eyes open.

  “Yeah, they both loved me a lot.”

  “And your brothers and sisters loved you, too?”

  “Yeah, them too.” Although he had never been particularly close with any of his siblings, something that he regretted more and more the older he got. “It took them a while, but when they realized I wasn’t a threat to their families they learned to love me. I grew up knowing I was loved, but it didn’t mean that I wasn’t lonely or that I didn’t often feel left out. I knew I was a constant reminder to my parents and my stepparents and my siblings of my mom and dad’s infidelity. I missed birthdays and other special occasions bouncing b
ack and forth between homes. I always felt like I never really belonged anywhere, like wherever I was that everyone was always making a special effort to love me and keep the peace. I guess I just wanted for once to not be the constant reminder of what my parents had done.”

  Xavier wasn’t sure why he was telling Annabelle such personal information. He’d never confessed his feelings about his childhood to anyone before. Not his parents or siblings or friends, not even to Julia. But with Annabelle he sensed that she needed to hear that she wasn’t the only one who had felt out of place in their own family.

  Looking down, he saw that Annabelle had finally fallen asleep. Disengaging his hand and rearranging the covers around her, Xavier then stretched out in the chair and knew that for the second night in a row he was going to have good dreams.

  * * * * *

  11:31 P.M.

  This time her stupid parents were not going to ruin things.

  Vanessa was still beyond mortified and embarrassed and horrified that her parents had found her and Vince naked in her bed. They had gone absolutely bananas, screaming and screeching so loud they had woken the neighbors.

  Who exactly did her parents think she was, anyway?

  It wasn’t like she was still a little girl.

  She was seventeen; Vince was nineteen, and what they chose to do in the privacy of her room was none of her parents’ business.

  Not only had it been humiliating that her parents had barged in right as she and Vince were about to make love, but they had also seen her naked. Vanessa knew they’d seen her naked as a baby, but this was different, she was a woman now, and she felt like her privacy had been completely violated.

  After they had pulled Vince off her and thrown his clothes at him, insisting that he get dressed and get out before they called the police, they’d looked in horror at the skimpy lingerie she’d bought for her special night and pulled some regular pajamas from her closet.