Page 29 of Girl Long Gone

Evelyn typed her response to Gabriel.

I feel much better. Dinner sounds great.

Gabriel had watched the front window of Evelyn’s apartment to memorize her nightly routine—not like it’d been difficult. Lights in the living room out by 9:00 p.m., lights in her bedroom out by 11:00 p.m. at the latest.

She seldom left, and her roommate kept a tight hold on her daughter’s schedule. At 2:00 a.m., chances of either woman being awake were slim to none. But fuckups happened. Not like he wasn’t prepared to handle the unexpected. But what fun was acting on impulse and not taking time to play the game?

The wind howled, whipping around the corner of the brick-faced building and creating a tunnel of cool air. Gabriel hunched farther into his jacket, careful to keep his head bent low. He held his phone in his hand to keep the pretense of being just another asshole lost in whatever drivel people constantly stared at on their phones just in case someone stopped, curious as to why he stood hidden behind the corner of the building.

But no one would notice—no one cared enough to notice.

Especially on a night like tonight when the street lamps glistened on the still-damp sidewalks and puddles of water collected on the nearly deserted streets. No one wanted to be out in such shitty weather, which is what made it so damn perfect. He’d stand and wait as long as he needed. Patience was one of his greatest attributes, and he’d use every shred he possessed to get what he wanted. To get closer to Evelyn.

A taxi pulled to the curb and a man jumped from the car then extended a hand to help a woman from the backseat. They rushed toward the front door of the building, and Gabriel slid his phone in his front pocket and hurried to follow behind them. The man held open the door, letting the woman slip past, then lingered a beat to let Gabriel grab the edge of the door.

He took the stairs one at a time so as not to make the booming echo of his footsteps noisier than necessary. Reaching the floor he needed, he stepped into the carpeted hallway and retrieved his lockpick tools from his pocket. He wiggled them around until the satisfying click of the tumbler made his nerves dance.

Holding his breath, he slowly turned the knob and pushed open the door. Excitement twisted his stomach as he slithered into the dark apartment and closed the door. A night-light in the hallway on the other side of the living room lit a path, and he tiptoed toward Evelyn’s bedroom. The plush carpet muffled the sound of his steps. He wouldn’t touch the roommate or child yet, but a quick peek wouldn’t hurt.

Easing the door open, he blinked to adjust to the lack of light. Two still forms huddled in the bed in the center of the room. Gabriel wet his lips, and sweat coated his palms. The sound of their heavy breaths rang in his ears, and he bit back a groan. He’d make time for them later, but now he had to move on before he did something stupid.

Closing the door, he took two long strides to Evelyn’s room. He pressed an ear to the wood to make sure no noise lingered inside. Satisfied, he slowly opened the door. The sound of waves crashing to shore sung from a sound machine, and a night-light illuminated Evelyn’s shorts and tank top as she sprawled in her bed, her blanket in a heap on the ground.

He flexed his fingers, fighting the urge to brush his fingertips against her smooth skin. Tonight wasn’t for touching, it was for watching and planning and making sure his little mouse found out exactly who was in charge of their dangerous game.

Lifting his phone in the air, he opened his camera, aimed the lens at the helpless woman in front of him, and snapped picture after picture after picture.

14

Connor slid into a parking spot close to Mark’s apartment building. Fatigue weighed down every muscle in his body, but even if he lay down, he wouldn’t fall asleep. He’d tried last night, and every time he’d closed his eyes images of Monica, tortured and scared, drove him insane.

Mark opened the door before Connor reached it and welcomed him through the threshold with a small pat between his shoulder blades. A large whiteboard with pictures plastered on it caught his attention. Scribbled notes attached near the pictures explained Mark’s thoughts, and opened files scattered around the floor. Mark organized his thoughts the same way with every homicide case he’d worked since becoming a detective.

Mark came up beside him and folded his arms across his chest, his focus aimed straight ahead. “Something’s nagging me about this case, and if you’re right and someone brought me into this investigation to mess with you, I just can’t seem to wrap my mind around it. It’s pissing me off.”

“Find anything?”

“I’ve talked to friends, coworkers, family—everyone was surprised Hayley was found near Columbia. She was a Brooklyn girl, born and raised, and didn’t leave the borough often. If she did, it was to travel for vacation, definitely not to visit Upper Manhattan.”

“Any prints recovered?”

Mark shook his head. “Nothing.”

Connor’s gaze flitted from a picture of a smiling Hayley to one from the crime scene. His stomach churned. The lid of a box hung open, and the image of what was inside would haunt him for the rest of his life. Still, he took a step closer, forcing himself to study not only the body, but everything else around it. Grooves cut into the wood caught his attention. He pointed at the picture. “What’s on the box?”

“Little markings.”

Connor squinted, trying to make out the details. “Decorative?”

“Yeah. It’s hard to tell from the pictures, but the markings had to be done by someone with a lot of experience and with specialized tools. I’m tracking down specific tools and shops that sell them.”

“Could be one of a kind. Gabriel’s into woodworking. I talked to an old buddy of his from school who verified he’s always been interested in building things. His mom bragged about it, too. Said he liked making his ‘little beauties.’” Connor used air quotes for the last two words.

Mark turned toward him with raised brows. “Little beauties, huh? What does that mean?”

Connor shrugged. “Who the hell knows.”

“I wonder if Gabriel uses the same phrase.”