The Bridge - Carol Ericson

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rubbed his eye with his knuckle. “Because it’s ugly and sordid. Why invite that into your world when it doesn’t have to be there? There are some images that you can never erase from you mind.”

      She gripped her upper arms, digging her nails into her flesh. He should know. Maybe she didn’t want to hear the particulars.

      Voices at the door had Elise raising her eyebrows at Brody. He headed across the room first, blocking her view.

      The locksmith rose. “This guy’s looking for Ms. Duran. Says he found her stuff.”

      Elise’s steps quickened. “Really? My purse?”

      A man dressed in running shorts and a sweaty T-shirt held up her small black bag from last night. “I found this on the street, a few blocks up. I looked inside, found your license and knew the address was back this way.”

      She moved forward, hands extended. “Thank you.”

      “Wait.” Brody handed her a white handkerchief. “In case he left prints.”

      As she poked around in the purse, Brody asked, “What time did you find it?”

      “Just now. Maybe five minutes ago.” The runner was already backing down the porch.

      “Can I get your name and address?”

      “Hey, man, I didn’t steal the purse.”

      Brody held up a hand with his badge cupped in the palm. “I’m not accusing you of anything, just in case we have further questions.”

      Hopping from one foot to the other, the man gave Brody his name and address and then took off at a sprint.

      The locksmith pointed his drill at the runner’s retreating form. “Nervous, huh?”

      Brody took her arm and steered her back to the kitchen. “Anything missing?”

      “Let’s see.” She held up her hand and counted off from the first finger. “My money, my keys, my lipstick.”

      “Your lipstick?” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder toward the bathroom.

      “Different shade, but now that makes two of my lipsticks he’s stolen.”

      “Even if he hadn’t kept your keys, you would’ve still had to change your locks since he got a look at your license.”

      “I know.” She slipped her cell phone from the bag. “At least he left me my phone.”

      She glanced at the display and noticed two text messages blinking. “Do you want something to eat or drink while we’re waiting for the locks?”

      “Just some water, please.”

      She placed the phone and handkerchief on the kitchen counter and went to the refrigerator to fill a glass with water from the dispenser. She clinked the glass in front of him and swept her phone from the tile.

      She opened the first message, which Courtney had sent earlier this morning. One word—breakfast? If Courtney thought she had a lot to tell Elise about last night, Elise definitely had her beat.

      She clicked on the next message from an unknown number. Someone had sent her a picture. A wisp of apprehension brushed the back of her neck as she touched the picture to expand it.

      The eyes of the girl in the picture mesmerized her, and she felt darkness closing in around her.

      Chapter Four

      Elise dropped the phone. The corner hit the counter and bounced once before landing facedown. Her body convulsed, and then she began to sway.

      “Elise?” He caught her with one arm, supporting her against his chest. He barely felt the pressure from her tiny frame. Was she having some kind of delayed shock or reaction to the hypothermia?

      He started to lead her out of the kitchen, but she dug her heels in the floor.

      “The phone.” The rasp in her voice made it sound as if she were choking.

      “Sit first. I’ll get the phone in a second.” He swept her up in his arms and carried her to the couch. Her dress had hiked up nearly around her waist, exposing an expanse of smooth thigh and a pair of wrinkled black panties.

      He settled her on the couch and dragged a colorful afghan across her lap. “What’s on the phone?”

      He charged back into the kitchen. Had her abductor sent her a message, too? Good. The better to track him down.

      Her teeth chattered. “I-it’s a p-picture.”

      Sean snapped on a rubber glove and touched the screen, bringing it to life. He swore at the image—a young woman, bound, her eyes wide and terrified above her gag.

      “Do you know her?”

      “Wh-what?”

      Sean sat beside Elise and wrapped an arm around her shoulder, pressing her close against his body. Gradually, her trembling subsided.

      He rubbed her arm. “Do you know the woman in the picture?”

      She shook her head, and her hair, still stiff from the salt water, scratched his cheek.

      “The number. Do you recognize the telephone number?”

      “No.” She took a deep breath that caused a shudder to run through her body. “It came up as unknown. He sent that to me, that vile, horrible...” Her words broke off in a sob.

      “Shh.” He wrapped his other arm around her so that he enfolded her in a hug, and still the ripples coursed through her.

      She tilted her head back and stared into his face. “She’s in the trunk of a car, isn’t she? Just like me.”

      “It looks like it. He’s an idiot. He’s allowed his hubris to get the better of him. We’re going to blow up this picture, trace the phone number. He’s just given us a bunch of evidence we didn’t have before.”

      “And the girl? Do you think she’s dead?”

      Of course she was dead. “I don’t know, Elise. It doesn’t look good.”

      “That could’ve been me. That was me, only he didn’t tie me up. Maybe he perfected his technique after I got away.”

      “We have no idea when this picture was taken. I don’t think he went out after you escaped this morning and found another woman.”

      This morning. Did all this just happen today? She chewed on her bottom lip. “I want it off my phone.”

      “I know you do.” He stuffed the phone in his pocket. “But right now the picture is evidence, and so is your phone. We need to find that girl.”

      “Have there been any missing girls reported?”

      “Always.” He didn’t plan to tell Elise about all the sad stories that crossed their desks, all the calls from desperate family members. He traced the edges of her phone with the pads of his fingers. Which family members would claim this one?

      “Why did he send that to me?” Elise buried her face in her hands. “I’ll never be able to get that image out of my head.”

      “He’s a sadist.” And somehow he’d dialed into him. Maybe the killer knew about his past, maybe he didn’t, but now they were tied together. That message on the mirror tied them together.

      “Ms. Duran, I’m all done with the locks on the front door.” The locksmith poked his head around the front door. If he’d heard any of their conversation, he gave no sign.

      Elise tried the locks and then settled the bill with him, but it was obvious her mind remained on that picture on her phone.

      “He’s a serial killer, isn’t he? He’s a serial killer you don’t know about yet. He’s just getting started and

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