Page 15 of Captive

“Why were you?” she shoots back. “I think we both know why Brock was on our radars. Ezra told me you guys don’t kill women. You send them to dispatch of—” She uses my terminology. “—bad men. There are a lot of those around, everywhere you look these days. Like you said, it’s just one big coincidence we went after him the same night.”

I open the bag and pull out the knife resting atop the contents. The very second I reveal the knife, Abby’s eyes flick to it, and I swear I see some form of remembrance in her silvery gaze. It’s possible she’s remembering her other kills, or maybe she’s wistful that she wasn’t able to kill Brock herself.

“A sharp tool,” I remark on the object in my hand. “Capable of cutting into someone quite well, given enough force behind it. I do have to say, I am impressed you were able to use this knife to cut your previous victims apart so well.”

Clearly, what I say she isn’t expecting, because the look she gives me is one of pure shock. “What are you talking about?” Where she’s normally talkative and even a bit awkward, she sounded purely stilted and caught off-guard right then.

“Your previous victims. Brock wouldn’t have been your first.” I set the knife down atop the bag and stare right at her, catching all the ways she tries to brush my comment off: an overly nonchalant face, a shrug, a wave of her hand. All dismissive.

Her words, though, aren’t as well thought out. “I don’t know what you mean.”

I cock a brow at her. “You don’t? So the names Chad Newark and Aaron Striver don’t mean anything to you?”

Abby’s eyes widen. Not a lot, but enough for me to notice. I might not enjoy being in social situations, but I am good at reading people. I’m great at putting pieces together. This woman… she isn’t your run-of-the-mill average woman. No, she’s seen things, done things, that most women, and most men, would never dream of.

As impossible as the odds may be, she’s like us. I just don’t know why she’s like us, not yet, seeing as how I don’t have her last name. Without it, I can’t look up her past and do some digging.

I know enough about her, however, and I will inform Royal and Ezra about all of it as soon as I contact the Benefactor and inform them of this turn of events.

Finally, Abby says, “Nope. I’ve never heard those names before in my life.”

Adjusting my glasses, I say with a single shake of my head, “Please don’t lie to me, Abby. If you want to know more about us, I need you to tell me the truth. Who are those two men to you? Or, perhaps I should say, who were they to you?”

She still doesn’t want to say. Instead, she asks, “Why are you bringing up those names?”

“Because those two men are dead, and when their local law enforcement found them, they attributed them to the crimes of D.D.K. It should be more than obvious to you that I know all about D.D.K.’s victims, and those two? They were never harmed by D.D.K.”

She swallows hard. The wheels behind her head must be turning, because her stiff posture relaxes somewhat. “Yeah, I guess that makes sense.” She runs a hand through her hair. “I guess there’s no harm in telling you I did it.”

“Why choose them? Did they fit the same profile Brock did?” A trick question to see how open she’ll be with me; I already have my suspicions. Chad had a record, though his court case ended up dismissed. The star witness never showed up. Aaron was your typical young man in college. A quick glance at his social media profiles showed just how much he liked to party.

“And what if they did? You gonna turn me in or something?”

“Of course not. If, however, they did fit the same profile… it might prove to me that you can be trusted. If we’re on the same side, if we like to hunt the same prey, perhaps you wouldn’t have to remain a captive here.”

That has her attention. “You’d really let me join the team?”

“I make no promises,” I say with a shrug, “but the possibility is there. So, with that being said, care to answer the question now? I need you to be honest with me.”

“They did fit the same profile,” she says.

“How did you know? What kind of research did you do on them?”

“Research?” She makes a pft sound. “Who do you think I am? My research involved going to bars and parties, scoping them out. I didn’t even know their names until the police came out with them.”

A haphazard way of stalking her prey, one that could’ve gotten her caught. Still, she succeeded in getting the victims attributed to D.D.K., so her plan worked. The police would never suspect someone like her as the culprit, given how gruesome our kills are. Plus, it isn’t like she went home with them from the bar or the party; something like that would’ve made the news. She probably followed them home, got to know their routines, and then struck on another night with her kill bag in tow.

“So you’ve been lucky,” I say.

“I wouldn’t necessarily say that. It isn’t like I left a note at the crime scenes saying, Hi, my name is Abby. I like long walks on the beach, pepperoni pizza, and cats. Oh, and by the way, I killed these guys.”

“No, you didn’t do anything of the sort, I’ll give you that. You were smart to copy our methods to hide your activities. I never assumed the other killings would be from someone like you, though.”

Abby cocks her head at me and wrinkles her nose. “Someone like me? What do you mean by that?” Though her question is in good faith, I’m taken aback by the tiny wrinkles on her nose. It’s an expression I’ve never seen before, and I hate to admit it flusters me.

I have to look away from her and cough. “Oh, um, just that, as you’re probably well aware, such violent killings are typically done by men.”

“Are you saying us girls can’t be violent?”