Karen Rose - Kill for Me

The third book in the Daniel Vartanian series, 2009

Danny Agan for answering all my questions about police procedure.

Shannon Aviles for all her support and wonderful ideas.

Doug Byron for his help in DNA procedure.

Kay Conterato for going above and beyond the call of duty when she researched radio ID badges while hospitalized!

Marc Conterato for all of his medical expertise-my drugged, shot, stabbed, and poisoned characters thank you, too.

Myke Landers for sharing his experience as a survivor of a POW camp in Vietnam. I was honored and forever changed. Thank you.

Angela Maples for her guidance in the tracking of pharmaceuticals.

Shirley McCarroll, Tommy Gianides, Suzanne Verikios, and Jan Sarver for all their priceless information on Greek families and customs.

Frank Ouellette for answering my questions on the Chattahoochee River.

Nate VanNess for his help on tracking ISPs.

Terri Bolyard, Kay Conterato, and Sonie Lasker for helping me get unstuck. You all are awesome.

Karen Kosztolnyik, Vicki Mellor, and Robin Rue for all you do to make my dreams come true.

As always, all mistakes are my own.

Port Union, South Carolina, August, six months earlier

Monica Cassidy felt a flutter in her stomach. Today would be the day. She’d waited for sixteen long years, but today the wait would be over. Today she’d be a woman. Finally. And wasn’t it about time?

She realized she was twisting her fingers together and forced herself to stop. Calm down, Monica. There’s nothing to be nervous about. This is, like, natural . And all her friends had done it. Some of them a lot more than once.

Today, it’s my turn.

Monica sat on the hotel bed and brushed the dirt off the keycard, which had been hidden exactly where Jason said it would be. She shivered, her lips curving in a small smile. She’d met him in a chat room and they’d clicked right way. She’d meet him in person soon. In the flesh. He’d teach her things. He’d promised. He was a college guy, so he’d be a lot better at it than the gross boys that tried to cop a feel every time there was a crush in the hallway between classes.

Finally she’d be treated like an adult. Not like her mom did. Monica rolled her eyes. She’d be a forty-year-old virgin if her mother had her way. Good thing I’m smarter .

She grinned to herself, thinking of all the steps she’d taken to cover her tracks that morning. No one friend knew where she was, so they couldn’t blab if they wanted to. She’d be back home, well and truly fucked, before her mother made it home from work.

How was your day, honey ? Mom would ask. Same old, same old, Monica would answer. And as soon as she was able, she’d come back. Because she was sixteen years old for God’s sake and nobody was going to tell her what to do ever again. Bells trilled and Monica dug furiously in her purse for her cell. She drew a breath. It was him.

RU there? she read.

Her thumbs were actually trembling. W8ing 4 U. WAU. “I’m waiting for you. Where are you?” she murmured as she entered her reply.

POS. PITA. SYS. ILY, he answered. His parents were watching him over his shoulder, she thought, rolling her eyes again. His folks were as big a pain in the ass as hers. But he’d see her soon. She smiled. He loves me. This would be so worth it.

ILY2, she typed and snapped her phone shut. It was an old phone. It didn’t even have a camera. She was the only one in her crowd without a damn camera on her phone. Her mom had one. But did Monica? No. Mom was such a control freak. You’ll get a phone when you bring up your grades . Monica sneered. If you only knew where I am. You’d shut up. She stood up, suddenly restless. “Treat me like a fucking kid,” she muttered, taking her purse to the dresser and staring in the mirror. She looked fine, every hair in place. She looked pretty, even. She wanted to be pretty for him.

No, she wanted to be hot for him. Monica rummaged in her purse, pulling out the condoms she’d pilfered from her mother’s ancient, never-used supply. But they hadn’t hit their ex-date, yet, so they’d still be good. She looked at her watch.

Where was he? She was going to be late getting home if he didn’t get here soon.

The door creaked open and she turned, the feline smile she’d practiced firmly in place. “Hello there.” Then she froze. “You’re not Jason.”

It was a cop and he was shaking his head. “No, I’m not. Are you Monica?”

Monica lifted her chin, her heart pounding. “What’s it to you?”

“You don’t know how lucky you are. I’m Deputy Mansfield. We’ve been tracking your ‘boyfriend’ Jason for weeks. Your ‘boyfriend’ is really a fifty-nine-year-old pervert.”

Monica shook her head. “No way. I don’t believe you.” She rushed for the door. “Jason! Run, it’s a trap! They’re cops! ”

He caught her shoulder. “We arrested him already.”

Monica shook her head again, slower this time. “But he just IM’d me.”

“That was me using his phone. I wanted to be sure you were in here and that you were unhurt.” His face gentled. “Monica, you really are a lucky girl. So many predators out there are trolling for girls just like you, pretending to be boys your age.”

“He said he was nineteen. A college boy.”

The deputy shrugged. “He lied. Come on, get your things. I’ll take you home.”

She closed her eyes. She’d seen stories like this on TV and every time her mom would wag her finger. See? she’d say. Perverts out there everywhere . Monica sighed. This can’t be happening to me . “My mom is going to kill me.”

“Better your mom than that perv,” he said evenly. “He’s killed before.”

Monica felt the blood drain from her face. “He has?”

“At least twice. Come on. Moms never really kill you.”

“Shows what you know,” she muttered. She grabbed her purse, furiously. I am so dead . She’d thought her mother was crazy protective before. She’ll lock me up and throw away the key . “Oh God,” she moaned. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

She followed the deputy to an unmarked car. She could see the light on the dash when he opened the passenger door. “Get in and buckle up,” he said.

Grimly she obeyed. “You can just take me back to the bus station,” she said. “You don’t have to tell my mom.”

He just gave her an amused look before slamming her door shut. He got behind the wheel and reached behind the seat, grabbing a bottle of water. “Here. Try to relax. What’s the worst your mom can do?”

“Kill me,” Monica muttered, twisting the top off the bottle. She drank a third of it in great gulps. She hadn’t realized she was so thirsty. Her stomach growled. And hungry. “Can you stop at MickeyD’s at the exit? I haven’t eaten today. I have my own money.”

“Sure.” He started the car and pulled onto the stretch of highway that went back to the interstate. In a few minutes he’d covered what had taken her an hour to walk that morning after the last ride she’d hitched let her off at a gas station at the exit.