“Zooey, elaborate,” he said. “My brain doesn’t work as fast as yours.”
“Competition! That’s what the missing girls have in common. They were all athletes! I just didn’t think it was important because they all did different sports so there was no crossover. But what if the crossover wasn’t the sport? What if it was the coach?”
The hair on the back of his neck stood up. “Wait, you mean . . .”
“When I talked to Dr. Jeffrey about what he remembered from the ME pages he gave to Sheriff Baker, he mentioned that on Cass’s skin, he found traces of urethane.”
Zooey was looking at him like she expected him to be blown away by this fact. “I don’t know what that is.”
“It’s a chemical commonly used in cleaning supplies. Specifically, in the stuff they use to clean gym floors. Or, if you’re a psychopathic killer and have it handy, it’s the stuff you use to clean up after you’ve killed someone.”
“Oh, my God.” Paul reared to his feet, realization hitting him.
Robin’s wrestling coach . . . the one who hadn’t wanted her to join the team.
Coach Patten.
Coach Patten had coached Cass in softball all those years ago.
He coached the girl’s soccer team, which is probably how Keira Rice got on his radar. He would’ve been a normal sight at sporting events around Northern California.
His chest tightened. His fingers itched for his gun.
Coach Patten was Dr. X’s apprentice. All these years, he’d been sitting in Castella Rock High School’s gym, the pick of his victims spread out in front of him. A steady stream of girls coming in and out from all over Northern California, as they competed against his teams.
It was like a fucking buffet to a sicko like him.
Paul’s stomach clenched. His training was screaming at him to call the sheriff, to call the highway patrol, to call in his own team from DC.
But the time for training was gone.
Now?
It was time for action.
“Get Cyrus on the phone,” he told Zooey. “Tell him we’re going hunting.”
Chapter 36
Abby came at Coach Patten swinging. The bucket cracked across his face, splitting in half with the force of her blow, spraying the contents everywhere.
“Robin! Run!” she yelled. The girl dashed past her and the wrestling coach, and Abby was right behind her as the man staggered toward her, dazed and spitting out whatever filth had splattered into his mouth.
“Go, go!” she shouted at Robin, who bolted. It was dark, she could barely see anything in front of her, but she slammed the shed door closed and darted after Robin, running up the hill. Her thigh muscles burned as she scaled the top of the hill, looking around frantically, trying to get some sort of sense of her surroundings. She registered the sky, trees in the distance, and a light in the distance—Patten’s house.
“Get to the trees.” She grabbed Robin’s arm, wrenching the girl in the right direction. Even this far from the shed, she could hear a kicking sound.
Any second, he was going to kick down that door and come for them.
“Hurry, hurry,” she urged Robin as they ran down the slope of the hill, disappearing into the tree line.
It was even darker in here, their every step a loud crackle as they moved deeper into the forest.
“Robin, find a weapon,” Abby hissed. “A big rock. A stick. Anything you can use. Do not let go of it.”
There was no way they were going to outrun him. This was his forest. This was his home.
They had to outsmart him. Surprise him.
Abby bent down, scooping up a long, thick branch that was more like a baseball bat. She hefted the weight of it in her hands, and then tossed it to Robin, who caught it.
“Come on.” Abby pulled Robin through the woods, moving as fast as they could. Minutes passed, their panting breaths the only sound. But then she heard it: whistling.
“It’s him,” Robin whispered. She was shaking next to Abby, her grip on her makeshift club trembling.
Abby scanned the area, trying desperately to find something—a tree, a bush, a gully—to hide in. Somewhere he wouldn’t easily find them.
The whistling was getting louder. They had to move. Now.
“Up the tree,” Abby hissed, pushing Robin toward the old oak tree up ahead. “Climb it. Get out of sight. Keep hold of that stick.”
She had to draw him away from Robin. If he was chasing her, he couldn’t chase Robin. It was a temporary solution, one that’d likely get her killed, but it was the only one she had.
She’d be damned if he snuffed out another young life.
Robin scrambled up the tree, Abby handing her the club. “Don’t move,” she ordered. “Remember your martial arts training. I’m gonna draw him away from here and then I’ll circle back.”
She dashed away, dodging through the trees with her heart in her throat. She bent and scooped up another club for herself, holding it close to her chest as she moved as swiftly as she could.
She wasn’t careful, crashing through the underbrush, snapping twigs and branches, and catching her hair on bushes as she went. She wanted him to follow her, to be drawn to the noise she was making, not searching for Robin.
If she could just hold him off . . .
But as the ground beneath her feet started to climb, the forest floor steepening as she ventured farther into the mountains, a dreadful kind of surety began to fall over her.
For them to get out of this alive, Coach Patten had to go down.
And Abby had to make sure he wouldn’t get back up.
Her fingers tightened around the club, and her lungs felt three sizes too small as she scaled the cliff overlooking the forest floor. She’d be able to see him coming from here.
But then he could see her too. She hesitated, flattening herself against a tree, torn.
No one was coming to save them. Paul . . . Paul didn’t even know where they were.
Her heart thumped wildly. If she and Robin managed to outrun Patten, they’d end up so deep in the wilderness, it would likely kill them before he did.
She closed her eyes, searching the forest for any sounds of pursuit. She thought about her father, taking her out in the woods, the endless hours of quiet as they stalked deer. How careful he had been. How silent. How swift.
She needed to be like her father now.
She needed to be cautious.
She needed to be hard.
She needed to be fearless.
She heard him before she saw him, that damn whistling floating through the trees. She crawled belly down along the ground, to the very edge of the cliff that overlooked the forest floor. When he came into sight, she went very still, praying he wouldn’t catch sight of her hair in the moonlight.
She watched as he drew closer. He was practically meandering. Hands in his pockets, whistling a jaunty tune, like he was on a pleasant evening stroll.
Her fingers clenched tight around the club, her feet digging into the fall leaves and dirt that covered the ground. Just . . . one . . . more . . . step . . .
There.
Abby sprang over the edge of the embankment, soaring through the air. Patten let out a surprised huff as she slammed into him from above, his body breaking her fall. They rolled along the forest floor, grappling for supremacy. He grabbed a chunk of her hair and ripped it from her head along with a scream from her throat. Then she spat in his face, scrabbling across the ground, searching for the club that had fallen from her hand.
“Bitch,” he snarled at her, the first word he’d spoken.
Her fingers closed around a rock, and she swung up her arm and smashed it against his temple. It made him jerk back, his hold on her loosening. She wiggled out from under him, coughing and panting, spinning in a confused circle, trying to figure out which was what which.
“You couldn’t leave well enough alone, could you?” Patten panted, getting to his feet.
Run, Abby’s mind screamed.