Never Die Alone

Bria

“Something to drink?” asked the young woman whose name tag read TAMI. She wore her red hair pulled to the top of her head in a tight band that allowed a spray of curls to escape. Her skin was clear, her smile infectious. Bria

Bridges ordered a beer and Bria

“You got it!” Tami said, and hurried off, nearly bouncing. She was so full of life.

As it should be for Zoe and Chloe.

Dragging her gaze away from the waitress, Bria

“You okay?”

“Yeah . . . no. God, I don’t know. What’s ‘okay’ when a friend’s kids are missing?” She squeezed her eyes shut for a second, but that didn’t help. Zoe and Chloe’s images kept coming to mind. What had happened to them? Where were they? Dear God, she hoped beyond hope that she was wrong about the 21 Killer.

When she opened her eyes again, Jase was still watching her intently. “Sorry,” she said. “It’s a nightmare. Sometimes . . . sometimes I lose focus.”

“I get it.”

For a second she believed he did. There was a sudden tenderness to him, a concern in his hazel eyes that she’d never expected to witness, and that glimpse of compassion touched her far too deeply.

“So the deal is I’ve spent the last couple hours going over the case against Caldwell. It was thin, but enough to convict him.” He squinted at the small candle, suddenly cautious. “I know he’s your cousin, but the murdered girls were your cousins, too.”

“All the more reason to make sure that their real killer is behind bars. Look, I didn’t really know Delta and Diana. But when the news of their murders broke, it was horrible. We were all beside ourselves even though Mom and her sister, Cathy, were never all that tight. I only met the twins a couple of times. We didn’t live close and were caught up in our own lives. In the begi

“But now you do, as the new advocate of Donovan Caldwell. That surprises me. Even you have to admit he’s off. A loner. The guy has issues. Serious issues.”

“You’re describing a good percentage of the American population, Bridges,” she pointed out, “not a serial killer.” That warm co

“Donovan Caldwell had assaulted a woman before.”

“A woman who dropped the charges. A domestic abuse case that was never proven, never went to court.” Her back was up now. “I don’t condone any kind of conduct where one party hits another, man or woman, but in this country, it’s still ‘i

“Right. Okay. Got it.” His hands lifted in a gesture of surrender, and he quickly changed his tack. “You’re a psychologist.”

“Right.”

“That’s what this support group is about. The one you were at tonight.”

“It’s part of my work, yes. But it’s a nonprofit group, and I volunteer my time. Members come and spend time together, hang out, talk.” She was still a little agitated but tried to let her anger go. He now knew where she stood. “I organized the group, and I facilitate the meetings. All participants are twinless twins, people who have lost a twin sibling.”

“Like you.” Something skittered through his eyes, an emotion that she couldn’t name. The expression unsettled her, but it vanished a moment later.

“Yeah, like me.” She rarely discussed Aria

He began to say something else, but at that moment the waitress returned, placed their drinks on the table, and asked if they’d like to look at a menu. “The manager’s extending happy hour, and we’ve got incredible shrimp poppers and sliders that are to die for! No kidding!” She held up both hands in a motion of trust-me-I-know-of-what-I-speak. When they declined, she shrugged with body language meant to convey “your loss” before she was off again, making her way to a booth where two women were trying to get her attention.

“We were talking about your sister,” he said, getting right back to the subject.

Pinching the stem of her wineglass, she wondered why she’d ever agreed to this meeting. What good could come of it?

Chloe found a piece of glass. Small and jagged, it was probably part of the light fixture that had shattered in the struggle when Zoe had escaped. U

The entire situation was dire, but she’d bolstered herself, silently prayed that Zoe had gotten away and found civilization, that she’d alerted the police who, any second now, would burst through the door upstairs and find the trapdoor. She waited, hoping to hear the wail of a siren, the whir of helicopter blades, the rumble of an engine. And then the awesome sound of a locked door being forced open, wood splintering and boots pounding overhead.

Instead she heard nothing but her own breathing, the drip from a leak somewhere and the god-awful ticking of the clock, counting off the remaining seconds of her life. She shuddered knowing it all might end here in this dank underground cell. Unless somehow, she found a way to make this little shard a weapon. Zoe had already sliced the prick’s throat. Somehow he’d survived, so obviously she hadn’t cut the jugular or carotid or whatever it was that needed to be severed. An artery would be best. The femoral would do.

Only a week ago Chloe had watched a YouTube video about a guy who was killed when his femoral artery was sliced by a beaver that he was filming. The beaver had been lumbering down the roadside; the photographer had seen it, gotten out of his car, and started videoing the beast, never expecting it to attack. But it had. The beaver had gotten spooked or irritated or scared or whatever and had lunged at the photographer with long teeth that were meant to chew through wood. Those teeth had ripped skin, muscle, and the artery in the guy’s thigh and he’d bled out. His footage was found by a friend and posted on the Internet with an “RIP Brian” footnoted at the end.

Chloe had been sickened, grossed out by the footage, but the information stuck with her, and now it might come in handy. Well, maybe. Actually severing the femoral artery was a long shot. The guy’s thighs were thick pillars of muscle. How deep would she have to plunge the glass? Even then, would she hit the right spot?

Maybe she would be better going after his throat again, or aiming for his eyes to blind and disable him.

If she had the guts to do it.

You have to do it. You can’t wimp out.

Zoe wouldn’t think twice. She’d cut off his balls or blind him. Whatever it took to free herself, to free you, too. So do it, Chloe. You can! If you don’t, he’ll kill you. That’s a fact. He just hasn’t yet because he hasn’t hunted Zoe down. But he will.