Shaking from head to toe, he took another step back, then another until he was through the door to the small room.
She heard him lock it behind himself.
Please, God, she prayed. Please help me. I can’t last much longer.
She began reciting the names again because it was all she could do. She’d lost count of how many times she’d done so when the door opened again.
He was back.
“Hello, Zandra,” he said calmly, almost sweetly, and that frightened her more than seeing him unhinged. He’d showered and changed his clothes and now held a bowl of water in his hands. He set the bowl on the table next to her bed and, taking a washcloth from the bowl, washed her body.
The water was warm, his strokes gentle. A moan escaped her throat. It felt so good. So good. He washed her all over, leaving several times to dump the bloody water, returning with fresh. Always warm. Always gentle.
He studied her stomach and chest after she was clean, shaking his head sadly. “I can’t suture you up because of my hand,” he said, “but I’ll disinfect them and bind them up.”
The disinfectant was cold and burned like fire. She moaned again, this time in agony, all while he shushed her. “You brought this on yourself, Zandra,” he said kindly. “If you’d just said you were sorry, all of this could have been avoided.”
He’s trying to mess with my head. She blocked out his voice, instead listening to the voice in her mind.
Bellamy, Anna. Pennsylvania. Fiddler, Janice. Washington. Orlov, Nadia. Illinois.
He cut the ropes binding her to the bed and rubbed her raw wrists. Warm water, soothing strokes. Then burning disinfectant. And more sad-sounding admonitions.
Stevenson, Rayanna. Texas, she thought desperately. DeVeen, Rosamond. Minnesota. Borge, Delfina. California.
He cut the ropes on her ankles, repeating the motions. Rubbing her legs briskly.
Oliver, Makayla. New York. Danton, Eileen. Oregon.
He lifted her from the bed gently, carefully laying her on the floor as he changed the sheets. Then he lifted her back.
Please don’t tie me. Please.
“I have to tie you,” he said, and she wondered if she’d said the words aloud. “But I’ll use softer cloth,” he promised. “This is silk.” He slid it over her skin. “It feels so nice, doesn’t it? I’ve got lots of silk.”
He tugged her until she was sitting upright, and then he was pulling something silk over her head. It was a sleep shirt. He laid her on the bed and pulled down the gown until it hit her midthigh. Then he tied her wrists and ankles again.
Martell, Kaley. California. Hart, Trisha. California.
He’s trying to trick me. She’d read about these tactics. He was reminding her what luxury felt like, only to take it away later. Whatever he planned to do later would feel a thousand times worse because now she remembered what comfort felt like. What hope felt like. I’m not going to let him mess with my head. I’m going to get away. I’m not going to die. Not like the others.
“Now, I have to go for a little while. But I’ll be back and then we’ll chat some more.” He pulled a velour blanket from a cabinet and covered her with it. “Until then, stay warm and try to get some rest.”
Then he cleaned up his knives and locked them up. He also closed and locked his trinket cabinet so that she could no longer see the driver’s licenses and souvenirs. He pressed a kiss to her forehead and left. Locking the door behind him.
Bellamy, Anna. Pennsylvania. Fiddler, Janice. Washington. Orlov, Nadia. Illinois. Stevenson, Rayanna. Texas. DeVeen, Rosamond. Minnesota. Borge, Delfina. California. Oliver, Makayla. New York. Danton, Eileen. Oregon. Martell, Kaley. California. Hart, Trisha. California.
GRANITE BAY, CALIFORNIA
MONDAY, FEBRUARY 20, 5:35 P.M.
Gideon felt a surge of pride as Daisy ended her call with the reporter, turned off the speaker, and carefully placed the Sokolovs’ cordless phone on the table. She’d been as articulate and wholesomely believable as she’d been in the on-camera interviews she’d allowed Friday night. She’d also skillfully kept the conversation to facts that were easily verifiable from public sources of information.
She’d also petted poor Brutus within an inch of her life.
She hadn’t mentioned Eden or the locket, somehow managing to deftly sidestep the reporter’s line of questioning every time it focused on Eileen and why they’d gone to Redding to search for her. She’d never once mentioned Gideon’s connection to the case. Never uttered the word “cult.”
She’d been honest about how she’d met Trish, how they’d both attended AA. Her grief over the loss of her friend had been genuine and evident and there hadn’t been a dry eye around the Sokolovs’ kitchen table, where everyone seemed to gather as Daisy answered the reporter’s many questions.
Karl and Irina sat in their usual places at either end of the table. Gideon was closest to Irina, who’d folded her hands on the table in front of her, but her knuckles were white.
Frederick sat directly across from Daisy, who sat between Gideon and Sasha, who’d been waiting for them when they’d arrived. Daisy had held Gideon’s hand throughout but let him go when she’d talked about finding Trish’s body so that she could put her arms around Sasha.
Because Sasha was weeping soundlessly, her face turned into Daisy’s chest while Daisy stroked her hair.
It wasn’t until the reporter had asked why she and Gideon were in Macdoel that she truly deflected, saying that she’d lived in the area for years and wanted to see it again.
Given how Daisy had felt about the ranch, saying that she’d wanted to see it again had probably been a lie. She’d ended the call after that, saying that she was tired from the ordeal and needed to rest. That was not a lie. No matter that she’d napped on and off all day, she was pale and drained.
“Well,” she murmured. “That’s done.” She pulled a few tissues from the box and gave them to Sasha, who wiped her face with a dramatic sigh.
“I’m so glad it is,” Sasha whispered. “I don’t know how you didn’t fall apart.”
Daisy’s gaze flicked to Gideon before returning to Sasha. “I did that already. I’ll probably do it again.” She kissed Sasha’s temple. “Go wash your face.”
“Not yet, Sasha,” Irina said sharply. She wiped her own eyes and it was then that Gideon saw that they’d narrowed.
At me. His gaze traveled around the table, noting that Karl was looking at Irina, troubled, and Frederick was watching his daughter with an outright frown.
Daisy picked up Brutus, rubbing her cheek over the dog’s bizarre bat ears.
“You lied,” Frederick said quietly.
Daisy met her father’s gaze, lifting her chin defiantly. “No, I simply used generalizations of the truth and let Nina Barnes believe what she wanted to believe.” She lifted one shoulder. “Kind of like you did when you told your ranch hands that you’d grown weary of the city rat race when they asked why you’d come to a ranch in the middle of nowhere. Not exactly a lie.”
“I was protecting my family,” Frederick said tightly. “Or thought I was, anyway.”
Daisy continued to hold Frederick’s gaze, unblinking, her fingers deep in Brutus’s fur, until her father sat back in his chair and looked at Gideon. “Oh,” Frederick breathed.
“Oh, what?” Karl looked between father and daughter. “How did Daisy lie?”
“Generalized the truth,” Daisy corrected, and Gideon’s lips quirked up despite the fact that Irina was glaring daggers at him.
“Whatever,” Karl said, frustrated. “What is going on here?”
“Our ranch was west of Weaverville,” Frederick said, “which is three hours southwest of Macdoel. You two were nowhere close to our old ranch, which Daisy routinely called the armpit of California.”
Daisy winced. “When I was a teenager.”
“Sorry,” Frederick said sarcastically. “When you were twenty-one you called it a ‘pustulent boil on the ass of California.’” He looked at Karl. “All to say there was no way she’d ever go back to walk down memory lane. Why did you go to Redding to begin with? And why Macdoel? Why were you on that road to start with?” He pointed to Gideon. “You tell us. She’s way too good at ‘generalizing the truth.’”
Karl’s brow bunched. “Gideon? What’s going on here, son?”
“She’s protecting Gideon,” Irina said flatly.
Sasha let out a breath. “I didn’t say a word, DD. I swear it.”
Daisy patted her hand. “I know. Your mama’s smart. Dammit,” she added lightly.
Irina didn’t smile. “This has to do with that tattoo that you had when you first came to us, Gideon. No, I hadn’t forgotten about you searching for tattoos on Saturday, Daisy. It was only two days ago. Talk to me. Now.”
Gideon rubbed his hand over his face. “I don’t want to,” he murmured, sounding like a child even to his own ears.
“I can see that,” Irina said, her voice trembling.