Chapter Twenty-Three

Hands. Hands on her body. She pushes at them. Stop! Stop touching me!

“Haley.”

“Hal-eeeey.” The whisper draws her name into long syllables.

She whimpers. No. Stop. Please.

“You killed me,” the whisper says.

I didn’t.

I like him. I couldn’t . . . I wouldn’t hurt anyone like that.

But the whisper is adamant. I’m dead, and it’s your fault.

No, she cries.

Blood pools at her feet. She looks down. Noah is on the floor, writhing. She is surprised. She thought he was dead.

He reaches one arm toward the door, toward help. She watches, helpless, unable to move as he wiggles on the tile. His chest heaves. His breath gurgles. He reaches a bit farther, his hand splaying on the floor. He leans on his elbow and inches forward, his movements simultaneously determined and futile.

Like a spectator, she stares as Noah slithers away like a snail. He makes it to the door. It seems to take forever for him to lift his shoulders high enough to reach the doorknob. But he makes it. The door opens. Cold air rushes in. Haley shivers as Noah heaves himself over the threshold, dragging his limp legs behind him. His feet disappear into the dark. But the door is open, and she hears him scraping along the boards of the back porch.

And then she doesn’t.

Silence fills her ears. She strains for the sound of movement. From the open doorway, cold night air blows in. But there is no sound.

The whisper calls again, and she startles. Nausea swirls in her belly, acid rising and burning the back of her throat.

“Haley. What did you do to me?”

The scream ripped from her throat, and Haley jolted awake. Someone was touching her. She recoiled from the hand, cringing into the bedding. Her clothes were soaked.

Please let it be sweat.

She opened her eyes. The familiar furnishings of her bedroom came into focus. But in her mind, all she could see was red. Blood. It was on her hands, slippery and warm. She couldn’t wipe it away.

“Haley, it’s another nightmare.” Her mom’s voice pierced the confusion.

Haley blinked, her bedroom fixtures sharpening. Her mom was sitting on the edge of her bed, her hands hovering above Haley’s shoulders, as if she’d been shaking her before she’d woken.

“Are you awake now?” Mom asked, her eyes mirroring Haley’s own exhaustion and fear.

Haley nodded.

“I’ll get you something to drink.” Mom stood. Turning to the dresser, she took pajamas from a drawer. “Put these on. I’ll bring fresh sheets.”

Haley crawled out of bed. “I’m going to take a quick shower.”

She couldn’t get rid of the feeling of blood on her skin.

Her mom left the room. Haley took the clean pajamas into the attached bath, turned on the water, and peeled off the wet flannel. She tested the temperature of the spray and stepped under it. She lathered up and scrubbed her skin over and over, but there seemed to be no way to wash away the blood in her mind. She turned off the water, toweled her body dry, and put on the clean pajamas. Even dressed and warm from the shower, she continued to shiver.

Her mom was waiting in the bedroom with her medication and a glass of purple Gatorade.

Haley took the pill and washed it down, draining the glass.

“You should try to get more sleep.” Her mother took the empty glass from her hand and set it on the nightstand.

“I don’t want to sleep anymore.” Haley climbed into bed and fluffed her pillows to support her back. “That was horrible.”

“Want to tell me about it?” Her mom perched on the edge of the mattress.

Haley shook her head. She didn’t even want to think about it.

“Do you want to watch another episode of Friends?” Anxiety clouded her mother’s eyes. Her mom must think she was crazy.

She thought she was crazy.

“OK.” Trembling, Haley pulled the covers up to her chin, feeling as vulnerable, out of control, and helpless as a child. “I feel like I’m five.”

“Maybe the psychiatrist will be able to help.” Her mom climbed into the other side of the bed and turned on the television. “Which episode are we on?”

“Five.” Haley settled back as the opening theme for Friends played. Haley’s eyes stayed wide open. The thought of closing them was terrifying, and her brain refused to let go.

She stared at the television. How long could this nightmare go on?

Chapter Twenty-Four

“Kieran Hart comes from serious money.” In the passenger seat of the Jeep, Morgan consulted her file folder. “He has a master’s degree from Wharton, and he works as the managing director of The Hart Family Trust. The offices are located in that four-story, green-glass building on Route 32.”

Lance stopped at a traffic light. “My mother found no criminal convictions associated with his previous addresses. His Connecticut record was erased due to the dropped charges, but she found and verified the arrest through the township newspaper online archives. They publish a weekly police incident report.”

“Kieran was married ten years ago. The marriage lasted less than two years.”

“The timing of the arrest for stalking his ex fits.”

“Yes.” Morgan closed her file. “Let’s see what he has to say.”

And how jealous he was.

Kieran Hart lived several miles outside of town. Lance pulled up to a set of wrought-iron gates, lowered the Jeep window, and pressed the intercom call button.

Cameras watched from either side of the gate. Infrared beams monitored the top of the gate and fence. Eliza had an excellent alarm system, but Kieran took home security to a whole different level.

“Yes?” a voice said from the speaker.

“Mr. Kruger and Ms. Dane to see Mr. Hart,” Lance said. “We have an appointment.”

The voice didn’t answer, but the gates rolled open and Lance drove through.

Kieran’s property was the type a great-grandfather left in trust for future generations. Mature trees dotted a parklike lawn. The long driveway ended in a circle like the upstate New York edition of Downton Abbey. Lance pulled up in front of the house. They got out of the car, and Morgan led the way up the walk. Cameras mounted under the eaves swiveled to follow them. More infrared beams winked from subtle locations.

“I feel like I’m being watched from every angle,” Morgan said.

“That’s because you are being watched.” Lance frowned. “This is not the kind of property we can slip into unnoticed at a later date.”

“What does that mean?”

Lance was suspiciously silent.

“You aren’t going to snoop around.” Even as she spoke, she knew that’s exactly what he wanted to do.

“I might not get another chance, and I suspect that photo of Haley was the equivalent of seeing a bug in your kitchen. With sex crimes, there’s never just one.”

“But this place is monitored,” Morgan protested. “I know you get impatient, but taking legal risks could jeopardize Haley’s defense. She doesn’t have that many people on her side. Kieran Hart could be a valuable asset.”

Lance didn’t mind cutting legal corners to speed up an investigation, but Morgan was desperately short on witnesses who would testify on Haley’s behalf.

“He’s her ex, so how can we be sure he’s on her side of this case?” Lance asked.

“If he still has feelings for her, we can play on those.” Morgan cringed. “That sounds terribly exploitative.”

“Worrying about exploiting Kieran Hart won’t keep me up at night.” Lance rolled a shoulder. “If he was taking naked pictures of girls without their knowledge, what else was he doing without their consent? His behavior fits the profile of a serial sex offender.”

Morgan couldn’t argue with his logic. “Let’s see what he has to say before we make any important decisions. We have only Haley’s word that he took the picture without her knowledge.”

“We need to find that photo.”

Morgan reached for the doorbell. Before she could press it, the front door was opened by a man in a slim gray suit.

“I’m David.” He stepped back to admit them. “I’ll take you to Mr. Hart.”