other for a long time, letting their tears mingle, and their sobs merge.
“So there’s nothing,” Katie finally whispered. “I am so sorry, Scott, I’m to blame for this. My career — all those sick perverts. I never thought —”
“Stop right now.” Scott leaned over and held her head between his hands. “None of this is your fault.”
“And that stuff about Keith. I should have told you before. I was just so ashamed that I got into something like that.”
Katie watched Scott’s face as he hesitated. “I just don’t want any more secrets between us. Ever.”
“I swear to you, Scott.”
“Then that’s it, babe. But Agent Streeter does want to talk to you.”
“About what?” Katie was already sitting up, swinging her legs off the bed.
“About Norman Watkins. Something’s going on with him. Streeter didn’t say what. Do you think he took them, Katie?”
“I can’t trust my judgment,” Katie said. “My first impression was yes, but now I just don’t think so.”
“So you don’t think he’s capable of that kind of retroactive vengeance?”
“No,” Katie answered from her heart. Deep inside she didn’t think that a woman like Connie would have stuck by a man that evil. Connie wouldn’t have raised her daughter to love and respect Norman unless he’d become a decent man. Connie said that he was now a different person. The FBI had verified that he’d been the ideal prisoner. Actually helping fellow inmates straighten out their lives.
“But he was in Detroit at the exact time that Alex and Sammie were taken,” Scott said. “How can that be a coincidence?”
Katie didn’t know. Could he have repressed all that hate for ten years and then focused it on her children? God, she was supposed to be a psychiatrist, yet she seemed to have no grasp of what was happening to her family.
CHAPTER 12
Nine-Year-Old Sammie and Alex Monroe Missing with No Clue.
—
Radio News, Tuesday, June 14
Spanky was working his hand hard and fast over his crotch when the angry blast of a horn interrupted. With a jerk of the wheel, he pulled the eighteen wheeler back into the center lane, flipping the middle finger of his left hand to the unattractive female driver of the Lexus passing on the right.
“Slut,” he growled over the background of the Tampa news station, a sexy female radio voice had been going on and on about those missing girls. Nine year olds; one wearing a lavender outfit and the other a multicolored pattern. They had black, wavy hair and one had a ponytail. The reporter sounded sexy with a southern drawl that was too much. She was saying that the young girls had light brown, almost golden skin. What was that all about? He listened more carefully now.
Spanky knew that Scott Monroe had been a catcher for the Yankees and that he was white. He’d seen him in person one time when the Yankees played the Tigers, that time Mom had surprised him with a ticket to Tiger Stadium for his birthday. So if these missing girls were “brown” then Monroe musta married a black woman or maybe an Asian or even Hispanic. So what? Spanky was not prejudiced. Truth be told, he’d only had white girls, but he’d have nothing against taking a black girl or half-black in this case. And he’d never had two at once. Just the thought made him sweaty with anticipation.
Spanky — his real name was Samuel Spansky — was midway through the tedious Detroit-to-Miami haul. Couple days off and he’d be heading back. He could have driven I-75 in his sleep and sometimes he almost did. But anytime his boss had asked him if he wantedanother route, like to Texas, he’d turned it down. Miami was a hot city and Spanky knew where to go for action.
Spanky liked his women young. Usually he had to settle for teens on the road, but he preferred little girls. Girls the age of those missing triplets. Just the thought made him salivate, not to mention how hard it made his throbbing cock. Spanky prided himself on his discretion. He
“So there’s nothing,” Katie finally whispered. “I am so sorry, Scott, I’m to blame for this. My career — all those sick perverts. I never thought —”
“Stop right now.” Scott leaned over and held her head between his hands. “None of this is your fault.”
“And that stuff about Keith. I should have told you before. I was just so ashamed that I got into something like that.”
Katie watched Scott’s face as he hesitated. “I just don’t want any more secrets between us. Ever.”
“I swear to you, Scott.”
“Then that’s it, babe. But Agent Streeter does want to talk to you.”
“About what?” Katie was already sitting up, swinging her legs off the bed.
“About Norman Watkins. Something’s going on with him. Streeter didn’t say what. Do you think he took them, Katie?”
“I can’t trust my judgment,” Katie said. “My first impression was yes, but now I just don’t think so.”
“So you don’t think he’s capable of that kind of retroactive vengeance?”
“No,” Katie answered from her heart. Deep inside she didn’t think that a woman like Connie would have stuck by a man that evil. Connie wouldn’t have raised her daughter to love and respect Norman unless he’d become a decent man. Connie said that he was now a different person. The FBI had verified that he’d been the ideal prisoner. Actually helping fellow inmates straighten out their lives.
“But he was in Detroit at the exact time that Alex and Sammie were taken,” Scott said. “How can that be a coincidence?”
Katie didn’t know. Could he have repressed all that hate for ten years and then focused it on her children? God, she was supposed to be a psychiatrist, yet she seemed to have no grasp of what was happening to her family.
CHAPTER 12
Nine-Year-Old Sammie and Alex Monroe Missing with No Clue.
—
Radio News, Tuesday, June 14
Spanky was working his hand hard and fast over his crotch when the angry blast of a horn interrupted. With a jerk of the wheel, he pulled the eighteen wheeler back into the center lane, flipping the middle finger of his left hand to the unattractive female driver of the Lexus passing on the right.
“Slut,” he growled over the background of the Tampa news station, a sexy female radio voice had been going on and on about those missing girls. Nine year olds; one wearing a lavender outfit and the other a multicolored pattern. They had black, wavy hair and one had a ponytail. The reporter sounded sexy with a southern drawl that was too much. She was saying that the young girls had light brown, almost golden skin. What was that all about? He listened more carefully now.
Spanky knew that Scott Monroe had been a catcher for the Yankees and that he was white. He’d seen him in person one time when the Yankees played the Tigers, that time Mom had surprised him with a ticket to Tiger Stadium for his birthday. So if these missing girls were “brown” then Monroe musta married a black woman or maybe an Asian or even Hispanic. So what? Spanky was not prejudiced. Truth be told, he’d only had white girls, but he’d have nothing against taking a black girl or half-black in this case. And he’d never had two at once. Just the thought made him sweaty with anticipation.
Spanky — his real name was Samuel Spansky — was midway through the tedious Detroit-to-Miami haul. Couple days off and he’d be heading back. He could have driven I-75 in his sleep and sometimes he almost did. But anytime his boss had asked him if he wantedanother route, like to Texas, he’d turned it down. Miami was a hot city and Spanky knew where to go for action.
Spanky liked his women young. Usually he had to settle for teens on the road, but he preferred little girls. Girls the age of those missing triplets. Just the thought made him salivate, not to mention how hard it made his throbbing cock. Spanky prided himself on his discretion. He
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