Cold Death by Mary Stone (best e reader for android TXT) 📕

A black-and-white printout of a police report was stuck to the opposite page, detailing the dropped charges against Kent Finn, who’d been accused of assaulting a minor.

The minor’s name was redacted, hidden by a black rectangle due to her age. Even so, Ellie knew without a doubt that the girl with the flute and haunted eyes was the victim.

Sophie.

A flood of emotion hit Ellie all at once as she returned her blurry gaze to the photo. The lines of the girl’s face, her chin, the shape of her nose. Once again, they plucked at a blank spot in the back of her mind.

“I’m so sorry.”

Her breathing hitched with the words, and she allowed herself a few minutes to simply gaze at the face that had haunted her for so long.

Ellie tugged at her collar to cool the sweat beading on her neck. Beneath the latex gloves, her palms grew moist. All of a sudden, the room turned unbearably hot, making her desperate to escape outside to the cool night air.

Instead, she forced herself to keep flipping the pages. To read the missing child report for a fourteen-year-old Sophie, less than four months after the assault charges were dropped. To study the solicitation report that followed a few years later, for a woman who went by the name Sofie and claimed to be eighteen.

Ellie finished the arrest report before moving on to Sofie’s accompanying mug shot. The image hit her like a booted foot stomping on her chest. That face. She knew that scowling face.

Ellie closed her eyes and swayed as a dam burst in her head and the memories from that night came flooding back yet again.

Kingsley had tied them both up and left them facing each other. At fifteen, Ellie had been terrified and unsure, but growing up in a loving family meant she’d entered the warehouse with emotional reserves. She’d trusted that someone would come and save her. That she’d escape and survive.

Sophie, with her abusive, desperate background, had none of those positive experiences to draw upon. The second Kingsley had explained the rules of his terrible Die, Bitch! Die game, her thin body had sagged, and the light in her eyes flickered out. Now that Ellie could finally access the memory in full, she could see the defeat in the other girl’s expression. Resignation to her fate.

Before the game had even started, Sophie had been convinced that she would die.

The photo album slipped from Ellie’s numb fingers. Her knees buckled. Clay swooped in before she fell, scooping her up in his strong arms and pressing her tight to his chest, holding her upright as she choked and gasped for air.

“Breathe, Ellie. Remember to breathe.”

Clay’s urgent command in her ear was what snapped her out of the daze. What alerted her to the violent spasms that gripped her chest and throat.

No wonder she’d grown lightheaded. She was sobbing so hard, she’d been unable to suck enough oxygen into her lungs.

He cradled her head to his chest. Beneath her ear, his heart beat a strong, soothing rhythm. She clutched his shirt, inhaling his clean, familiar fragrance and rode out the last of her tears.

When the worst was over, she hiccupped twice and shuddered. “It’s her,” she whispered, without lifting her head from his flannel shirt. “The girl in the warehouse, back when he kidnapped me as a teen. I finally know her name. Sophie.”

36

“I hate to burst your bubble, but Superman is most definitely the strongest superhero of the entire bunch. Prove me wrong.”

Clay offered up the challenge from the back seat, and as anticipated, Bethany rose to the occasion. She squealed and turned around in the front passenger seat so she could fix Clay with the full force of her righteous eight-year-old indignation. “Easy! All you need to beat Superman is a stupid chunk of space rock. Does that sound strong to you?”

“I think she’s got you there.” Ellie tossed an amused glance over her shoulder before returning her attention to the road.

“Okay, so clearly, Superman was a bad choice. Batman, on the other hand, now he’s one tough fellow, and space rocks don’t bother him a bit.”

Far from annoying Ellie, their banter pleased her immensely. Clay had elicited multiple giggles from Bethany on this road trip already, probably more during this single outing than she’d laughed in the entire three-some-odd weeks following Katarina’s death combined. Ellie would have tap-danced up and down the sidewalks of downtown Charleston dressed like any of the caped crusaders in order to get the girl to smile more.

Lucky for her and the local residents, Clay and his superhero debate skills had rendered that option unnecessary.

While Bethany was distracted by the debate, Ellie shook out her right hand before placing it on the steering wheel. This was also the first stretch where Bethany had allowed Ellie free use of her arm. Ever since that awful night, the little girl insisted on clinging to Ellie’s hand everywhere she went. Except for in the bathroom. Ellie had those moments to herself. But cooking, cleaning, even driving, forget it. She’d had to learn to do everything one-handed.

The good news was, if Ellie ever injured her arm in a freak accident, she was good to go. Not that she was complaining.

Ellie tapped the brakes when the Taurus in front of them slowed, before checking the rear mirror and changing lanes. Katarina’s daughter was a tough little cookie, but trauma needed to be processed. The more weeks that passed, the safer Ellie hoped Bethany would feel. But Ellie didn’t kid herself. She remembered her own mood swings and sky-high need for reassurance after her Kingsley trauma, and she’d been fifteen.

Ellie glanced over at the girl, who was pointing at Clay and giggling.

Katarina, you were right. She truly is one of the most resilient people I’ve ever met.

As she returned her eyes to the road, her heart twinged with a bittersweet pang. Somewhere out there, she hoped Katarina was watching