BooksBarbecue
Back The Runaway
Chapters (80)
  1. Cover
  2. TITLES BY NICK PETRIE
  3. Dedication
  4. Epigraph
  5. 1
  6. 2
  7. 3
  8. 4
  9. 5
  10. 6
  11. 7
  12. 8
  13. 9
  14. 10
  15. 11
  16. 12
  17. 13
  18. 14
  19. 15
  20. 16
  21. 17
  22. 18
  23. 19
  24. 20
  25. 21
  26. 22
  27. 23
  28. 24
  29. 25
  30. 26
  31. 27
  32. 28
  33. 29
  34. 30
  35. 31
  36. 32
  37. 33
  38. 34
  39. 35
  40. 36
  41. 37
  42. 38
  43. 39
  44. 40
  45. 41
  46. 42
  47. 43
  48. 44
  49. 45
  50. 46
  51. 47
  52. 48
  53. 49
  54. 50
  55. 51
  56. 52
  57. 53
  58. 54
  59. 55
  60. 56
  61. 57
  62. 58
  63. 59
  64. 60
  65. 61
  66. 62
  67. 63
  68. 64
  69. 65
  70. 66
  71. 67
  72. 68
  73. 69
  74. 70
  75. 71
  76. 72
  77. 73
  78. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  79. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  80. What’s next onyour reading list?

June sniffed the air. “What’s that smell?”

“Cleaning products?”

But June always had a better nose than he did. “Not there. In here.”

Peter followed her voice. When he got to the bed, he recognized the odor, faint, but distinct. He’d smelled it before, too many times. Voided bowels, but with something else beneath it.

June pointed to a long depression in the comforter. “There was a body here.”

Peter nodded. He stepped into the bathroom. Water droplets dappled the tub and sink. The ceramic was still warm to the touch.

“We didn’t miss them by long,” Peter said. “What kind of sick fuck kills two women, then hangs around to take a shower?”

June stepped past him and looked into the tub. She pointed at several long, pale strands of hair near the drain. “Both Roy and Frank have short hair, right? The aunt does, too, according to pictures in this house. Beth doesn’t seem a likely candidate for a shower. So who does that leave?”

Peter didn’t like that at all.

Helene, what are you becoming?

62

HELENE

The poor woman didn’t have to die, Helene had thought. But she had a key to the house. Once she let herself in, it was all over.

“Hello, Ms. Sundstrom? It’s Beth. Are you home?”

Helene had followed Roy into the front hall, with Frank at her heels. Beth’s widening eyes told Helene that she knew something was very wrong.

Before the plump young woman could react further, Roy stepped past her and locked the door. Then he’d looked at Helene. As if asking her permission. As if it made any difference.

She’d said, “Go back to the kitchen, Frank.” She heard his footsteps recede. She wanted to go with him, but she made herself stay and watch.

She didn’t allow herself to show anger, fear, or disgust. She didn’t let herself react at all. Because she needed to be stronger, and she needed to understand.

He did it the same way with each woman, she realized. Jessica Moore in Utah, then Aunt Willa, and now poor Beth. The quick hard blow to the face, the controlling arm around the neck that lifted her off her feet. Then the murmured words, It’s okay, little rabbit, followed by the twist of the head that broke her neck.

Again, even after the woman died, Roy held her close. On his face, a strange, flickering emotion. And when he laid her down, Helene saw again the erection straining his jeans. This time she saw a damp circle in the denim.

She wanted to throw up. She wanted to scream. She wanted to run.

But she knew Roy would just catch her up again. I’ve got you now, little rabbit.