Adrenaline jolted Diana’s bloodstream. She strained her eyes, trying to see something. Anything but colored spots swimming in endless blackness. “What happened?”
“Shh.” Reed’s suit jacket rustled. A click sounded off the cement, the sound of him unsnapping his holster and pulling out his gun.
Diana’s heart slammed high in her chest. Had someone cut the electricity on purpose? Someone like the Copycat Killer? Reed seemed to think so.
Her legs began to shake. Silence hung in the dank air, heavy enough to choke her.
“Where are the circuit breakers?” Reed whispered.
Diana never had a reason to know. She combed her mind, trying to picture where she might have seen something like that. “I think I remember some electrical boxes in the laundry room.”
Reed’s shoes scraped lightly in the darkness, moving toward the door. Moving out into the hall. He couldn’t leave her. Not in here. Not in the darkness.
Where the killer could be waiting.
No, the killer wasn’t in here. He couldn’t be. But he might be out in the hall. Out in the hall waiting for Reed.
Panic flared hot in her chest. She pushed herself up from her crouch, willing her trembling knees to support her. Gripping the cage of chicken wire, she felt her way to the two-by-fours framing the locker door.
“Stay in the locker,” Reed whispered.
“But—”
“I don’t want to have to worry about where you are.”
Of course. What was she thinking? That she was going to save Reed? How? She had no gun. She had no weapon of any kind. And although she’d started attending classes on self-defense, at this moment she didn’t know if she could stand let alone remember a single move.
She backed into the storage locker and lowered herself into an uneasy squat. The darkness closed around her, as heavy and oppressive as a blanket. A pall. She struggled to hear above the pound of her pulse.
It was torture, waiting like this. Not knowing what was happening. Helpless. Images exploded in front of her eyes, memory playing out against the black screen. She remembered every excruciating moment of the days and nights she’d lain tied in that dark cabin. The burn of the ropes against her wrists. The terrible thirst that parched her mouth and throat. The emptiness that opened like a chasm inside her.
She couldn’t push it out of her mind.
She’d been worried about Reed then, too. She’d seen Professor Bertram hit him with the tire iron. She’d seen the way his head had bounced against the tile floor. She’d seen the blood.
And she’d been helpless to do anything to help him. The helplessness was the worst. It ate into her until there was nothing left but bitter darkness.
A sound came from out in the hall.
She couldn’t sit here and wait for Reed to be attacked. Wait for the killer to find her. Wait to relive horrors she’d barely survived the first time.
She groped in the darkness until her hands touched the cardboard flaps of boxes. There must be something here, something she could use to defend herself, to help Reed.
She pulled the flaps of one box open. Taking a breath of dusty air, she shoved a hand inside. Her fingers brushed the spines of books. She tried another box, her hand plunging into soft fall sweaters. Her third try, the buttery leather of a softball glove. She clawed deeper. Something cold and curved and as smooth as brushed metal met her palm. She gripped the softball bat and pulled it from the box as quietly as she could.
It felt good in her hands. Solid. Strong. She focused on the locker door. If something happened, if someone came inside, she could take a swing at him. She could defend herself.
The trembling in her legs spread through her whole body. Her breathing roared in her ears, yet oxygen never seemed to make it to her lungs.
Oh, God, don’t let this happen again.
The lights flickered, then held.
She blinked, the sudden illumination blinding. Relief rushed through her bloodstream, relief she was afraid to feel.
Footsteps sounded in the hall.
She tightened her grip on the bat.
Reed stepped around the corner.
She let the bat clatter to the floor.
“Diana.” He rushed to her side, encircling her with his arms, holding her on her feet.
Her body dissolved, as if the muscle holding her upright had turned to quivering goo. “Who was it?”
“I don’t know. But I’m getting you out of here. I’ll come back for the boxes when backup arrives.”
“And Nadine Washburn’s mother?” Reed had planned to talk to the woman about her daughter’s disappearance. But right now, the last thing Diana wanted was for him to leave her alone.
“I’ll have another detective do it. Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere just now.”
She nodded, but she didn’t move. The way she was shaking, she didn’t know if her legs would carry her. Worse, she didn’t want to leave the protection of Reed’s arms.
BY THE TIME THE OTHER OFFICERS arrived, Diana had gotten her shaking under control, but the tide of failure sweeping through her wasn’t so easy to stem.
She’d tried so hard. To stand on her own. To be strong. And yet, she hadn’t been with Reed ten hours and any progress she’d made over the past months had washed away, leaving her clinging and shaking in his arms.
She leaned against Reed’s car and waited for him and the other officers to complete their sweep of the building. The only thing she could think to do was pray the circuit breaker flicking off was an overloaded circuit. If it was more than that, she didn’t know what she’d do.
“Diana?” Reed walked toward her. A small gift bag dangled from his fingers. He crossed the sidewalk and stopped in front of her. “Who would have left you a gift?”
Diana stared at the package, her mind a blank. “I don’t know.”
“I might.” He stepped past her and reached for the car door.
“What is it?”
“You can see it later.”
The tremor reignited, rippling through her legs. “It’s from the copycat, isn’t it?”
Reed opened the driver’s door.
She grabbed his arm. “Isn’t it?”
His bicep hardened under her palm. “You can see it later. You’re in no condition now.”
“I need to see it now.” She pressed back the tears flooding her eyes. She couldn’t cry. She couldn’t let the emotions surging through her overwhelm her. Not unless she wanted to prove Reed’s point. That she couldn’t handle the truth. That she might never be strong enough to stand on her own. “Please.”
He looked down at her, searching as if he could see her thoughts written across her face. Slowly, he dipped a hand into his jacket and pulled out a pair of plastic gloves like the ones he was wearing. “It’s not the type of surface that is likely to give us good prints, but it pays to be careful.”
She pulled the gloves on. Drawing a deep breath, she opened the bag and peered inside.
A small box nestled in the bag. The fading twilight gleamed on its white skin. She looked to Reed. “What is it?”
“A music box.”
Cold skittered up her spine. Memories niggled at the back of her mind, memories she couldn’t quite grasp. “Can I touch it?”
“Are you sure you want to do this?”
She wasn’t sure. She wasn’t sure at all. She managed a nod.
Holding a handle in each hand, he spread the bag open so she could pull out the box.
Covered in white satin and fluffy tulle, the tiny box looked like a wedding favor. Or a little girl’s dream.
She grasped the box in one hand and caught the tiny clasp with the edge of her fingernail, flipping it open. She held her breath as she lifted the lid.
Pink satin lined the box, a mirror fitted inside the lid. And in front of the mirror, a tiny bride twirled, her dress and veil frothing around her like frosting on a wedding cake. A metallic tune tickled the air.
Diana didn’t remember her childhood before age three. Not really. Only bits and pieces. A feeling here. An isolated image there. But there was no mistaking the song plucked out by the music box’s metallic tines.
“‘The Wedding March.’” Her voice rasped hoarsely in her ears, a voice she hardly knew. But she knew exactly who’d given her this gift. She could feel the shiver of memory in each metallic note. “It’s from him. It’s from Dryden Kane.”