Read The Prettiest One: A Thriller Online

Authors: James Hankins

The Prettiest One: A Thriller

ALSO BY JAMES HANKINS

Shady Cross

Brothers and Bones

Jack of Spades

Drawn

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

Published by Thomas & Mercer, Seattle

www.apub.com

Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Thomas & Mercer are trademarks of
Amazon.com
, Inc., or its affiliates.

ISBN-13: 9781477829820

ISBN-10: 1477829822

Cover design by David Drummond

For Lynne and John, who, in addition to raising the child who would later grow up and become my wonderful wife, are pretty terrific people themselves.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

“MY NAME IS CAITLIN SOMMERS,” she said aloud even though she was alone.

Her feet hurt as she walked. Her legs were tired. She wasn’t sure why she was walking, but she kept going, her sore feet protesting as they carried her across the cracked pavement.

Though the night was clear, she walked in a fog. What day was it? Did she have to work in the morning? If so, she’d have to be in the office by nine. For a moment, she wasn’t certain what office that was, then remembered she was a real-estate agent. She couldn’t imagine why that fact had momentarily escaped her. Something bumped against her leg and, looking down, she was mildly surprised to see that she was holding a small canvas bag by its strap. She wondered where she’d gotten it.

She didn’t know where she was or how she had ended up there, walking across that pavement. She looked down and saw faded, painted white lines passing under her feet, one after the other, as she walked. She was in a parking lot. An empty one. No idea why. She’d simply woken up and there she was . . . wherever that was.

But no, she hadn’t truly woken up, because she hadn’t been asleep. That was how it felt, though, like she’d been sound asleep and dreaming for days. Even now, wisps of pale memories shimmered briefly in her mind before disappearing quickly, the way snippets of dreams so often do moments after waking.

I know who I am,
she thought, then followed that thought immediately with,
Why wouldn’t I?

The last thing she remembered was . . . well, it was hazy. She recalled . . . going to the gym, maybe? And being in a store, a small one with a bell over the door. She’d bought . . . something yellow.

She kept walking, kept putting one achy foot in front of the other, until she saw a car up ahead illuminated by the wan light falling from a thin sliver of moon. It felt to Caitlin as though she might have been heading toward the car all along without even knowing it, so she held her course.

Moving slowly, she walked all the way to the far corner of the lot, where the car waited in the moonshadow of a big shade tree. She stopped and turned. Far across the expanse of empty asphalt hunkered a big rectangle of a building. It looked like a warehouse. Even from this distance, and despite the dim moonlight, the structure’s broken windows and graffiti-decorated cinder-block walls told Caitlin that it was abandoned. She turned back to the car and peered through the passenger’s window. There were no keys in the ignition. She reached into a front pocket of her jeans and found a set of keys. She pulled them out, slid one into the keyhole in the door, and unlocked the car. Inside the vehicle, she slid behind the wheel and dropped the bag on the passenger seat beside her.

“My name is Caitlin,” she said to no one.

She started the car, then wondered where to go.

Home,
she realized. Of
course
she should go home. Her husband must be wondering where she was.

Join the club, Josh
, she thought.

“My husband’s name is Josh,” she told the empty car.

She glanced at the dashboard clock: 1:17 in the morning. Josh must be frantic. She leaned first to one side then the other, patting her back pockets. It felt like she had a thin wallet in one. The other pocket was empty. Strange—she always kept her cell phone in her back pocket.

Okay, no phone. No problem. She’d just drive home and talk to Josh when she got there.

She eased the car across the empty lot until she reached the exit to the street. It was a quiet, wooded road. This warehouse, wherever it was, was located somewhere remote. Caitlin looked left, then right, then chose left because . . . well, because she had to choose a direction.

She drove for a few miles, surrounded by trees, until the trees started to thin and signs of life began to appear—first a few houses, then a few businesses, then a strip mall. On the other side of the street from the mall, she spotted the bright yellow sign of an open Shell station. She was about to pull in, ask where she was, and figure out the fastest route home when she saw a sign for Interstate 91 North.

She nodded to herself. This situation didn’t feel right at all, and she was confused about a lot of things, but she suddenly felt strongly that I-91 would take her home. She checked the fuel gauge, saw that it was nearly full, and swung onto the on-ramp. Soon she passed a sign for Holyoke, which she knew was in Massachusetts. Finally, she had an idea where she was, even if she still didn’t know how she’d gotten there. More importantly, she knew she’d be home in Bristol, New Hampshire, in a few short hours.

Nothing made sense to her. She had so many questions. But she was suddenly very tired, so she refused to think about anything but the road ahead. She’d be home in a little while. It would be good to get home.

CHAPTER TWO

JOSH SOMMERS DREAMED OF HIS wife, as he often did. Tonight, she was wearing her yellow sundress with the red flowers, the one she’d worn on their first date. They were walking in a nondescript park, surrounded by faceless people enjoying the brilliant sunshine. He and Caitlin were laughing. They used to laugh a lot together. Somewhere, a church bell rang.

“Come on,” Caitlin said, “we’ll be late.”

She turned and started away from him at a trot, the sundress swaying against her slender calves, her blonde hair bouncing against the back of her neck.

“Slow down,” Josh called.

She turned her head and smiled but didn’t slow her steps. In fact, she began to retreat from him more quickly, even though her legs didn’t seem to be moving any faster. Somehow she slipped farther and farther away, despite his having broken into a run.

“Caitlin, wait for me.”

She didn’t turn around again. And she didn’t slow down. She was almost flying across the grass now, moving with an ease and grace that should have been impossible at the speed she was traveling. The sun disappeared behind a dark veil of clouds that hadn’t been in the sky just seconds ago. A strong, cold wind blew in Josh’s face, slowing him down, though it didn’t seem to touch Caitlin at all.

The church bell rang again. Caitlin reached the crest of a hill and stood for the briefest of moments, a bright splash of yellow against a sky as dark and gray as wet concrete.

Josh was running as fast as he could now, his legs pumping, his heart hammering.

The bell rang again and Caitlin sank from sight behind the hill.

She was gone.

Josh opened his eyes to the darkness of his bedroom. He’d known it was a dream all along, but his breath was still short and his pulse was still pounding. He blinked at the ceiling, slowed his breathing, and tried to calm his racing heart. His hand reached out and found the cold, empty side of the bed.

The doorbell rang, and he realized it had been ringing for some time, that it had been the church bell of his dream. He turned to the clock by his bed: 3:09 a.m.

What the hell?

He slipped out from under the bedcovers, tugged on a pair of jeans, and headed for the stairs as the doorbell rang yet again.

“Hang on,” he called as he neared the bottom step.

He crossed the foyer and peeked through the little curtain beside the door. It took a long moment for his mind to process what he saw. As soon as it did, he fumbled with the dead bolt and yanked open the door.

Caitlin stood on the porch.

It was really her. It didn’t seem possible, but there she was.

“I’m sorry, Josh,” she said as she slipped past him into the house. “I know it’s late. I know I woke you. I would have called, but I must have lost my phone.”

How
. . .
?

“And I would have let myself in, but I guess I lost my house key, too,” she said. “It’s probably with my phone, right?”

He could only stare at her.

“I know you must be angry and have a lot of questions,” she added. To Josh, she sounded like someone who had recently awakened from a drug-induced sleep. “Believe me,” she said, “so do I. But I’ve been driving for hours and I’m really tired. Can we talk in the morning?”

She did indeed look tired. And a bit . . . lost. She also looked very little like the woman he’d married.

“Caitlin?” he asked. “Is it really you?”

She was heading for the stairs when she stopped and turned back toward him.

“I expected questions,” she said, “but that wasn’t one of them.”

“What were you expecting?”

She gave a small shrug. “Maybe something more like ‘Where have you been?’ ”