Chapter 22
Zane
Back at my small house, things were getting hectic as more and more of the crew arrived.
Whenever Peyton wasn’t curled in on herself like a trapped animal, her eyes darted back and forth, scanning for any possible attack.
I approached, placing my hands on her shoulders.
She jumped. Definitely the traumatized-animal response.
“It’ll be fine,” I assured her. “You’re safe with us. You’re safe with me.” I kneaded the tension out of her shoulders and neck.
“Oh, that feels good. Don’t stop.”
I leaned over to whisper in her ear. “You’re mine, and nobody is getting past me to hurt you. Do you understand?”
“Yours?” she asked meekly.
I twisted her around to face me and locked eyes with her. “Do you have a problem with that, Angel?”
She shook her head. “I’m scared.”
I didn’t dare ask if it was my declaration that had scared her.
“That felt so good. Can you keep massaging my shoulders?” she asked.
“Sure.” I turned her and resumed working the knots out of her shoulders. “The other places I want to massage you will feel even better.”
She laughed, which drew glances from Serena and Grace nearby.
I shrugged as if I had no idea what the joke was.
Peyton twisted around again. “I could use some wine.” After running for who-knew-how-long, it was likely difficult to sit still and just think about whatever or whomever had scared her so much.
When the others looked away, I leaned over to make my latest attempt at guessing her background. “Are you a podiatrist?”
She pulled my head down. “Physical therapist.”
I nodded as I straightened up. “I was close.”
“Hardly.” She scoffed. “No podiatrist in her right mind wants to swap paychecks with me. Now, where’s that wine?”
Peyton had downed two glasses by the time Duke finally arrived with a stack of pizza boxes.
“Hey, Snuggles, you wanna help with these while I get the liquid refreshments?” He handed the pizzas off to Serena, and Grace jumped up to help.
Jordy passed paper plates around.
The hungry group got a little too rowdy for me as they all jostled to get the slices they wanted. “Keep it down, guys. We don’t want to disturb Mrs. Polluck next door. Upsetting the landlady is never a good idea.”
The soundproofing between our units was good, but not perfect.
As the group calmed, Peyton offered me her empty glass for another refill.
“Maybe you should slow down on that.”
I thought I’d been gentle, but her scowl said otherwise. “You have no idea how stressful this is.”
I nodded. When I returned with her refill, I almost spilled it as she wrapped herself around me. “I want to get my life back,” she said.
Holding her tight, I nodded. “Lean on me. Together, we’ll make that happen.” Just so long as a return to Boston isn’t integral to that plan. That was a fear I didn’t verbalize. I didn’t want to let this woman go.
Duke returned with a box containing beer and sodas.
I chose ginger ale for myself.
Peyton grabbed a longneck beer to go along with her wine. Yeah, she was stressed.
When everyone had food and drink, Lucas spoke. “Okay, Peyton. Why don’t you start at the beginning and tell us all the story?”
Peyton
Zane’s arm moved protectively around me.
I swallowed. There would be no more hiding behind meek words. The glasses of wine had helped, but still, being the lioness was hard. “I come from Boston, where I was a physical therapist. The man I’m running from is called the Boyfriend Strangler.”
Several gasps sounded around the room.
“That’s heavy,” Winston added.
“You mentioned Atlanta?” Grace asked.
“Please give her a chance to go through it,” Lucas said calmly. “Go ahead, Peyton. At your own pace.”
“Is your name really Peyton Smith?” Jordy asked.
Lucas threw him a glare, but I answered. The tech geek had likely done enough background on me to know the answer already. “No. It’s Leighton Clarke.”
Zane nodded and gave me a squeeze.
Jordy looked up from typing on his laptop. “But you did go to Atlanta?”
Lucas poked his brother’s shoulder. “I swear, Jordy. The next time you interrupt, I’m breaking out the duct tape.”
Jordy flexed his fingers and typed, but stayed quiet.
“My best friend was an investigative reporter for the Ledger, and she decided to do a series of articles on the Boyfriend Strangler,” I explained. “Her name was Cassie, Cassandra Moulton. She was working on that story when she became a victim of the Strangler.”
People stopped chewing their food, their eyes bugging out.
I paused as memories of that horrible night flooded over me. “I had to change my name because I saw his face—the Boyfriend Strangler’s face.”
Jordy rapidly worked the keys of his laptop.
“He’s killed, like, a dozen women,” Duke said.
“Eighteen is the current count,” Jordy corrected. “Holds them for three days. Rapes them and strangles them with a red necktie, all in the Boston metro area, and still on the loose.”
The details were too gruesome to contemplate, but I gritted my teeth and continued.
“Cassie had dinner scheduled with a man she claimed was quite the gentleman—even sent her flowers. Not knowing where she was having dinner, I ended up getting takeout from the same restaurant. It was just happenstance.” I sniffled.
Zane stroked my back.
“I noticed her at dinner, and then she saw me and waved. That’s when her date looked up, and I saw his face. He had these eyes—two different colors. I’ll never forget him.”
“Is that the man you saw today outside the pawnshop?” Duke asked.
I nodded. “Yes, and he sent me roses and a card at work today. That’s why I ran.
” It wasn’t the time to second-guess myself.
“But that first night, back in Boston, I didn’t know he was dangerous.
That next morning, I found a dozen blush pink roses at my door with a note that said we should have dinner and gave a place and time.
None of the guys I’d been out with recently had sent me flowers, so I thought it was romantic and creepy at the same time. ”
I felt Zane stiffen next to me.
Terry’s brows rose in confusion. “How does that tell you he was the Strangler?”
“When I didn’t hear from Cassie the next day, I went to her place.
I found the same flowers and a note with the same handwriting as the one I’d just gotten.
It was inviting her to the dinner I’d seen her having at the restaurant.
” A shiver came over me as I continued. “Then the news came out that she’d been the Strangler’s latest victim, so I knew it was the man she’d had dinner with. ”
Grace gasped.
“That is creepy,” Serena muttered.
“The press named him the Boyfriend Strangler because he went on dates with the victims before killing them. And yeah, like Jordy said, he always strangled them with a red necktie and raped them.” That was hard to say out loud.
“And you think those roses meant he was after you?” Terry asked.
“Yes,” I sobbed. “I damn well think he picked me to be next.”
“It’s okay,” Constance said. “Nobody’s questioning you.”
“Hold on,” Terry said. “Your friend didn’t know the roses were part of this guy’s MO?”
“Obviously not,” Duke said.
Lucas pointed at Jordy.
His brother started typing. “Reporters are careful about communicating with sources, but I’ll see if I can find anything.”
Zane’s nod urged me to start again. “The roses had never been in the news reports. I took off for Atlanta that same day and never looked back. He knew I’d seen his face.
He must have asked Cassie about me and gotten my name from her.
I think he expected to lure me to dinner before her body was found. ”
Constance chimed in, “So you’re the loose end he needed to clean up.”
“That would sure scare the shit out of me,” Grace agreed, slice of pizza in hand.
Serena nodded along.
So far, Zane had listened, but not asked anything.
“Did you talk to the police before or after you left?” Duke asked.
Maybe I should have slowed down on the wine.
After I left where? “Both,” I answered, deciding it didn’t matter.
“I called before I left Boston to say I’d seen Cassie at dinner with a man, but was told I should come in the next week to give a statement, and there was no way I was sticking around that long. ”
“Did you mention the roses?” Serena asked.
“I don’t remember exactly what I said, except that I was sure I’d seen the Strangler. It sounded like they thought I was a hysterical woman.” I’d been going out of my mind trying to figure out what to do after going to Cassie’s and finding the roses and note.
“Idiots,” Winston commented.
“When I moved to Atlanta, I took a new name and threw out my old phone,” I explained.
“I called the Boston police a week later on a prepaid phone to tell them what had happened, and they were more receptive. But when they wanted me to come back to Boston to be interviewed, I said no. I just told them everything over the phone that I knew. And I told them where my apartment was so they could check out the flowers and note I’d gotten. ”
“Who did you contact at Boston PD?” Lucas asked.
I thought back. “The first time I used a tip line at the end of the article. When I was in Atlanta, I called the same number, but was transferred to a Ryan Flynn. He said he was a detective on the case.”
Lucas pointed at Jordy. “Look him up.”
Jordy started typing. “On it.”
The room went quiet as we watched him work.
“Got it,” Jordy said. “Boston homicide division has eight separate three-man squads. His squad is headed by Sergeant Quinn O’Connor.
Flynn has been on the force for fourteen years, in homicide for eight now, one commendation, one officer-involved shooting—cleared on that one. ” Jordy looked up. “I can dig further.”
“That’s good for now,” Lucas said before gesturing for me to continue. “Did you tell him your new name?”
Zane gently rubbed my back.
“No.” I shook my head. “I told him I’d moved to Atlanta, but I gave him my real name, my Boston name, when I called. Like I said, he wanted me to come back to Boston for an interview. But I wasn’t going back.”
“Smart,” Grace said.
“Then, six months ago, he found me in Atlanta.”
“Who?” Lucas asked.
“The Strangler.” I shivered, recalling the attack. “I got away and came here.”
Winston raised his hand. “Hold on. How did he find you? Or even know you were in Atlanta?”
“I’d told a few friends where I’d gone, and that detective. But I didn’t give anyone my new name.”
Jordy had been typing furiously and raised his hand. “I know how.”
“Enlighten us,” Lucas prodded.
“You sold your car there, didn’t you?” Jordy asked me.
I nodded. “For cash.”
Jordy said, “He got the VIN number from your Massachusetts records, and when the sale record showed up in Georgia, he had you.”
It took me a second to put that together. I’d definitely had more wine than I should have. “Shit. I didn’t think of that.”
Zane patted my back. “Don’t beat yourself up.”
“I used all my money getting a new identity and moved here because it’s as far away as I could get from Boston.”
“How do we think he found her here?” Lucas asked the group.
I’d been thinking a lot about that.
Once again, Jordy put his hand up. “Best guess, social media. Peyton’s face is on several of the pictures from when Terry and Duke had the shootout in front of SpaceMasters.”
Dammit, I’d forgotten that Rhonda had mentioned seeing a shootout picture.
“Okay,” Lucas said, taking command. “For now, we assume this Strangler is our Mr. X, and that he has been after Peyton for a few days now.”
I spoke up. “In Atlanta, he told me he’d watched me for a few days before finally coming after me.”
“Jordy, get me a cell number for this Detective Flynn. No, make it his boss, Sergeant O’Connor. Peyton, we’re going to call him after this.”
Jordy nodded.
I gulped down the rest of my wine. Maybe calling the Boston police shouldn’t scare me this way, but it did. Neither of my calls with them had gone well.
“Zane, you should join us on the call. We need everything they have on this Strangler.”
“Copy that,” Zane agreed.
I had to get out the hard part before going any further. “He also killed my friend in Atlanta before I left. I know it was him.” There, I’d said it. A woman died just because she’d befriended me.
“Name?” Lucas asked.
“Olivia, Olivia Pope. Killing her was a message to me. I’m sure of it.”
“Got it,” Jordy said a few seconds later. “She was found raped and murdered in the woods several miles from her home. Strangled. Last seen walking out of a convenience store and meeting a man on the street. Security footage was no help because the man never faced the camera.”
“Smart bastard,” Winston said. “He scoped out the location.”
Jordy continued. “She walked out of frame with the man. After that, nothing. Her boyfriend was questioned.”
“It wasn’t him,” I inserted.
“The police agreed,” Jordy noted. “No charges filed, and the case is still open. No red necktie, so if it’s him, he changed up his MO.”
Lucas turned on me. “Why do you think it was him?”
I cringed, now at the point where I had to admit the hardest part. “Because he said he would. The first note I got said to meet him for dinner or...”
“Or what?”
“It didn’t say, but the bottom corners of the note had the letters O and P in them. I should have put it together at the time, but I didn’t.”
It was clear from Zane’s face that he didn’t get it.
“Don’t you see? O and P, Olivia Pope. He killed her because I didn’t do what he wanted.” I curled in on myself, overwhelmed by shame.
“You can’t blame yourself,” Constance said.
“Of course not,” Serena added.
“He’s to blame, not you,” Zane added, hugging me.
Lucas shifted to look at me. “We have to assume he’s followed or tracked you and could know you’re staying here.”
That didn’t make me feel safe.
As if sensing my discomfort, Zane rubbed my back again. “Don’t worry.”
I knew he meant to help, but I still reached for the wine and filled my glass again. That would help as well.
“You know, he may have trashed her door to force a move,” Winston suggested. “A multi-unit building adds variables.”
“Jordy, you and Winston carpet this place and all the approaches with cameras.”
As I listened to them talk about tasks and guess about my pursuer’s strategy, I finally relaxed somewhat. I had the pride behind me now. I was no longer alone in this.