Baltimore 03 - Did You Miss Me?

just followed the guy home and stolen the scrubs from his clothes hamper. Now there was a new victim and an even higher price on Beckett’s head. Which was Beckett’s problem.
    Beckett’s problems were mounting.
    Because shortly after the cops went back in the hospital, BOLO was updated with the suspect’s name. Wilson Beckett. Daphne had come clean.
    Mitch was surprised. He hadn’t been sure that she’d ever tell, that she wouldn’t take her secret to her very early grave. He’d predicted that she might reveal Beckett’s name, but only when she was shamed into it by being shown proof that she’d been in that little bunker twenty-seven years ago. That she’d known all along.
    But she’d shared straight up. And now the shit would rain down on her head. Her career would be over. Her family would know the truth.
    The families of over two dozen dead girls would be asking why she didn’t reveal Beckett long before he tortured and killed their daughters. The families of over two dozen dead girls would want their pound of flesh.
    Sorry, guys . You’ll have to stand to stand in line . Daphne Montgomery is mine .
    Wednesday, December 4, 11.30 P.M.
    Daphne let Joseph lead her to the stuffed armchair where he tugged her onto his lap. She melted into him, pressing her cheek to his warm chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart as her tears continued to fall. She was too tired to make them stop.
    She let herself go, let herself lean on him. Inhaled the scent of him – soap from his shower, his aftershave. He held her close, one hand closing over her hip, anchoring her to him, the other rubbing her back. Slowly, firmly, rhythmically.
    Calming her. The tears slowed. Stopped. Until all that was left was the bare, unavoidable truth. All these years . She’d thought Beckett dead. But he’s not . He’s been out there . Doing it again and again . How could she face his victims? Their families?
    Her own family. Her friends. Herself. It’s not my fault . I didn’t know .
    How many times had she heard that excuse in court?
    ‘What have I done, Joseph?’ she whispered.
    ‘Nothing wrong,’ he murmured. ‘You were a child.’
    He sounded so sure and in her mind she knew he was right. She desperately wanted to believe him in her heart.
    The hand that rubbed her back lifted to stroke her hair, gently at first, gradually increasing the pressure until he massaged her head, taking care to avoid yesterday’s bump. She let her head fall forward and for precious minutes she didn’t think about anything except how good it felt. He seemed to know just how hard to press.
    He seemed to know exactly where it hurt. Even if she’d had another wig with her, there was no way she’d put it on now. His touch against her scalp felt too good.
    The quiet moan escaped her before she knew it was coming. His chest expanded in a giant exhale as his hips shifted beneath her. He was aroused, but not demanding.
    ‘Feel good?’ he asked, his voice a deep rumble in his chest.
    ‘Mm-hm. Thank you. I’ve had a headache since yesterday morning. I thought the worst was over when Ford was found. And for me as a mother, it is.’
    ‘But for you as a person?’
    ‘My worst nightmare.’
    ‘Coppola said you had one last night. A nightmare. Did you dream of Beckett?’
    ‘Yes. And that little room and Kelly’s screaming. And . . .’ She hesitated, not wanting to tell, but knowing she must.
    She could feel his dread as he held her, his arms tensing. ‘And?’ he said, his voice gone darkly menacing.
    She sighed. ‘I wasn’t entirely truthful earlier.’
    ‘You said he didn’t touch you.’ He went still. ‘No, you said he didn’t touch you the way he touched her. Why didn’t you say it before?’
    ‘He didn’t touch me. He would have, though. That’s why I ran. I didn’t say it before because Ford was there and I didn’t want him to know. But somebody needs to know the truth because now . . . there are others.’
    ‘What did he do?’ he growled.
    ‘It wasn’t what he did. It’s what he said. Can you settle down? The growling is making me edgy.’ She sighed, trying to calm herself. ‘I was an early bloomer. Always looked older than I was. I was the only eight-year-old in my class with a training bra.’ She shrugged. ‘Beckett noticed.’
    Joseph quietly seethed. ‘And then?’
    ‘He’d pet my hair and tell me that I needed to “cook” for a while longer. I think he’d planned to keep me until I’d