Brian Freeman: Immoral

"I'm getting the seats all wet," the girl said.

"It's all right," Graeme replied. He let the moment linger a little too long, and her smile eroded into a nervous laugh. A hint of uncertainty clouded her eyes. Suddenly, he felt that she could see through him and recognize his intentions.

Graeme shut the door and climbed into the front seat. He looked back and gave her a winning smile. "I have to make one stop, then we'll head back to town. Okay?"

"Oh. Sure." The girl bit her lower lip. He could see questions forming in her mind and the first glimmer of fear.

Put her at ease.

"I'm Graeme," he said. "What's your name?"

"Kerry," the girl said, squeezing some of the dampness from her hair. "Kerry McGrath."

Serena's eyes were lost somewhere, focused beyond the city. He knew it was Graeme she could see in her brain. Trolling the back roads, hunting the way a tiger hunts. Graeme, coming upon an innocent teenage girl whose only sin was to go running at the wrong time and in the wrong place.

"Are you sure?" she asked.

Stride took a deep breath and nodded. "Graeme killed Kerry. Rachel knew. That was the beginning."

"But after Rachel disappeared, your team went over Graeme's van with a microscope. It's hard to believe he didn't leave something behind."

"He did," Stride said. "We were just looking in the wrong place."

Serena's brow furled in confusion. Then she exhaled in disgust as she put it together. "That son of a bitch. He used Rachel's car."

"Exactly," Stride said. "That was what we missed all along. I remember listening to the testimony at Graeme's trial and thinking there was something I hadn't caught. It was right there in front of me, and I never made the connection. Kevin and Emily both testified about Graeme buying Rachel a new car to replace the old hand-me-down from her mother. I should have recognized the timeline-the red VW, purchased almost immediately after Kerry disappeared. And what did Rachel call it? The Blood Bug. Oh, yeah, she knew. She was going to pay him back-her way."

"Did you trace the car?" Serena asked.

"We did. We tracked down the new owners in Minneapolis. We found a strand of hair and minute traces of blood in the back seat that we matched to Kerry, and semen we matched to Graeme. I told the McGraths. They were pleased to learn that, in an odd way, justice had already been served. At least they know now that Kerry's killer didn't get away."

"Were there any others?" Serena asked.

"You know how it is. These guys don't usually do it just once. We're looking into other missing teenagers that could be linked to Graeme."

Serena hugged herself and shivered, but when Stride looked at her face, he realized she wasn't cold. She rubbed the flesh of her arms, as if trying to wash away a stain.

"I'm not sure there's so much difference between me and Rachel," she said. "I was abused, too. I wanted revenge."

"Rachel wasn't completely innocent," Stride reminded her. "She was playing a dangerous game."

"Don't judge her too harshly, Jonny. Until you've been alone with the monster, you don't know what you'll do." She shivered again, glancing over her shoulder. "I feel haunted."

"I don't believe in ghosts," Stride said.

Or did he?

For all he knew, they were surrounded by ghosts, pushing and shoving to get past them on the narrow platform. There were good spirits, like Cindy, whispering that he had done the right thing by falling for Serena, and spirits in limbo, like Rachel, smiling in dark irony at all the profound changes she had wrought in his life. Maybe there were evil spirits, too, like Graeme, raising gooseflesh on Serena's skin and making her as scared as the girl she was when she was alone with her own monster.

Stride lifted Serena's chin to stare into her soulful green eyes. With the back of his hand, he caressed the soft skin on her cheek. He tried to be strong for her, a man who would dispel her nightmares, someone she could walk next to, or lean on, whichever she chose. As they stared at each other, her face, softened, and the fear fled. At that moment, he knew they were alone on the roof of the world, without any spirits at all except their own.

"There are no ghosts," he told her firmly, wanting her to believe him.

Serena's lips turned upward in a smile. "I have no right to ask you this," she said, "but it would be nice if you could stay here a while."

"I was thinking that, too."

She leaned into him and kissed him, moving her mouth passionately. Below them, the city glowed.

"Welcome to Vegas, baby," she murmured.

Many people made this book a reality. To Ali Gunn in London and her wonderful team at Curtis Brown-Carol Jackson, Diana Mackay, Tally Garner, Stephanie Thwaites, and many more-thanks for all your passion in supporting my book and my career. And the same thanks to Deborah Schneider in New York. You all changed my life.

Marion Donaldson at Headline and Jennifer Weis at St. Martin's Press have been the most passionate, thoughtful editors that any author could hope for.

Robert Bond, London's finest intellectual property attorney, is the man who knows everyone. Thanks, Robert. Alison, if I haven't told you before, that spreadsheet of yours is a great idea.

Novelist Ron Handberg and his editor, Jack Caravela, provided guidance that helped me at a crucial phase of editing.

To my many wonderful friends at Faegre & Benson-and in particular the readers among the lawyers and staff who encouraged me-I'm very grateful. You're a terrific team. To my good friends and readers in the Twin Cities business community-Tony Carideo, Jay Novak, Lynn Casey, and many others-thanks for all your good wishes and good ideas.

A special word of thanks to two mentors in my life: Joyce Bartky, who told me to sit in a corner and write; and the late Tom McNamee, whose wisdom and advice changed my career in ways that led me to where I am today.

To Barb and Jerry, for taking such good care of Disney when we had to be away. To Janean, for reading all my earlier works and waiting patiently (sort of) for a copy of this one. To Janice, for your guidance and insight. To Keith and Judy, those crazy English. You're all wonderful friends.

The people of Duluth will have to forgive me for the evil deeds I have written into their beautiful city. (I'm sure the people of Las Vegas are used to it.)

Finally, and most important, I owe my success to my wife, Marcia, who has always believed in me through more than twenty years together, and to my family: my parents, brother, cousins, aunts, and uncles, who are still cheering me on, and those like Bea, Frank, Jo, and Neal, who are smiling down from above.

www.bfreemanbooks.com

If you want a little more of the stories behind the characters in this book, go to my Web site at www.bfreemanbooks.com. I have posted some bonus flashbacks.

While you're there, feel free to send me an e-mail to let me know how you liked the book. I will do my very best to reply to all letters. You can also use the Web site to send information about the book to your friends. And you can register for my mailing list to receive a notice when my next book is in stores and get a sneak preview.

BRIAN FREEMAN is a veteran business writer and marketing executive. Immoral , his Edgar-nominated first novel, was selected by Bookspan as International Book of the Month and was published in fifteen countries. He and his wife live in Minnesota. Visit his Web site at www.bfreemanbooks.com.