The River Girls Read online

  The River Girls

  A Mercy Harbor Thriller: Book One

  MELINDA WOODHALL

  The River Girls Copyright © 2018 by Melinda Woodhall. All Rights Reserved.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  Cover Designed by: Michael Rehder

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Melinda Woodhall

  Visit my website at www.MelindaWoodhall.com

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Printing: November 2018

  Creative Magnolia

  For Linda Jean

  Chapter One

  The key slipped into the lock, turning with a soft metallic click that made the man’s heart race. He inched the door open and stepped inside, pausing to listen for any sound from within the dark room.

  Had the girl heard? Was she awake?

  As always, the smell of moldy carpet and stale cigarette smoke greeted him, assailing his senses. His nostrils flared in distaste.

  What a dump.

  He knew the motel had been selected for that very reason. Families and professionals were less likely to stop at a cheap, run-down motel that still used actual metal keys instead of those little plastic cards. Fewer conveniences and luxuries meant fewer guests who might care enough to ask questions.

  After the harsh light of the motel’s corridor, the darkness of the room enveloped him. He opened his eyes wide, impatient for them to adjust. Following the glowing numbers on the bedside clock, he moved across the room and leaned over to feel the rough bedspread and lumpy pillows. The bed was empty.

  Disappointment surged through him as he threw the scratchy cover to the floor.

  You waited too long, an angry voice spoke in his head. It sounded so close, so real, that he spun around and faced the room. Was someone there in the dark? Had someone been waiting for him? He switched on the bedside lamp, knowing even as he did that no one would be there. A pale circle of light lit up the small, empty room. He saw the navy-blue bedspread laying in a heap where he’d thrown it on the stained carpet. A wooden table with two mismatched chairs sat under the window. Thick curtains were tightly drawn, protecting the room from any nosy passersby.

  “No, she was here,” he whispered into the quiet room. “How can she be gone?”

  He raised his hand in a clenched fist, tempted to slam the table lamp to the floor, when he heard a faint retching coming from the bathroom. He couldn’t see light under the door, but she must be in there. He could hear her begin to gag and cough. Relief, mixed with the stirrings of anticipation, made his hands start to tremble.

  The poor girl must be coming down hard.

  He’d expected her to still be out of it, still be sleeping off the effects of her last hit. He thought she’d be laying down, maybe even unconscious. It would be easier that way. Less risk of something going wrong. Less likely that the girls in the room next door might hear something.

  He hadn’t counted on her being awake and alert, at least not at the beginning, but it was too late to turn back. His pulse quickened as the bathroom door opened and the girl stepped into the room.

  “What the hell…why are you here?” Her blood-shot eyes widened at the sight of him. “I’m supposed to have the night off.”

  She clutched her stomach and shuffled toward the bed. The oversized t-shirt she was wearing had once been white, but it appeared gray in the dim light of the room, and the man could see the front of the shirt had a variety of stains on it, some still wet.

  “Look, I’m sick. I need a fix bad.” The girl sunk onto the bed and held out her arm.

  A pattern of angry red track marks contrasted with the pale skin. He looked into her face and saw a new bruise, a big purple one on her left cheek. Her eyes were puffy and wet.

  He took in her bleached blonde hair, the ends dry and tangled, the grown-out roots dark and greasy. Rage started to simmer in his belly as he surveyed her. How could they have done this to her? She’d been so beautiful, so fresh. Sure, she’d had problems, needed help. But what had they done? Instead of helping her, they’d ruined her.

  She’s a poor substitute for Tiffany, the inner voice taunted, and he flinched, feeling the urge to punch the wall, or maybe break the lamp after all. Taking a deep breath, he stopped himself from giving in to his impulse. It wouldn’t do for the girl to think he was violent or unstable. Not if he hoped to save her from this mess.

  But the thought of Tiffany lingered. Her image filled his mind, made his blood pump faster through his veins. Tiffany had been his first girl; the perfect girl that had once been his obsession; the girl who still haunted his dreams.

  He’d waited three long years to find another girl like Tiffany, and he knew this girl might be the one. He had decided to save her the moment he had seen her two weeks ago. She had been pretty and blonde and new. Not yet tarnished and beaten down like the other girls at the motel. He had seen right away that she was special, and that she’d gotten herself into the kind of trouble that she couldn’t begin to understand.

  “Come on, hook me up.” The girl’s voice trembled, not from fear but with need. Her pleading eyes searched his face, perhaps hoping to find some sign of kindness, some hint of compassion for her suffering.

  A small, sad smile played around his mouth as he unbuckled his thin leather belt, pulled it free of his belt loops, and slid the end through the buckle to make a noose. The girl’s eyes shone with gratitude as she lay back and held up her arm, ready for the tourniquet that meant an injection was coming and relief was on its way.

  “Yeah, I’ll help you,” he whispered as one strong finger reached out and caught a lock of her hair and caressed it.

  He moved closer, then recoiled at the stench from her shirt.

  That wouldn’t do at all.

  He grabbed the bottom of the shirt and wrenched it up and over her head in one movement, the shirt sleeves trapping her arms behind her back. She yelled out in surprise, but he slipped the belt around her neck before she could inhale or produce a second sound.

  “Shh…quiet. We don’t want anyone bothering us, do we?”

  Her startled eyes bulged in fear and she produced a coarse gurgling sound.

  “From this angle you really do look like Tiffany,” he said, his voice low and thick with excitement. He settled himself over her, his strong leg muscles keeping her body firmly in place.

  His hands pulled the belt tighter around her throat. “Only she was prettier…and cleaner.”

  A long-denied need moved in him and ignited into a clawing hunger as he writhed against her, his body shaking with frustration. Suddenly scared that he would end things too soon, he forced himself to loosen the belt and shift the bulk of his body weight to his knees.

  He looked down at her and saw that her eyes were closed, her face red and puffy. But he could hear her wheezing in and out, and feel her chest moving under him. It wasn’t over yet.

  Her eyes blinked open and he thought he saw a flash of relief. Maybe she knew he was saving her, that her suffering would be over. Or perhaps she was hoping he was just playing some sick game.

  But this was no game, and he was no pathetic john out for a cheap thrill. No, he had a mission: he was going to save her from the shame that she’d brought upon herself. He was like the good Samaritan in his mother’s stories, the kind of man she had want
ed him to be. He was bringing relief to the suffering.

  Keeping his eyes on her face, the man tightened the belt again, watching her gasp for air, feeling her body begin to convulse underneath him.

  Almost there, almost time. But not yet.

  He loosened the belt again, relieving the pressure.

  This time the girl turned her head to the side, no longer hoping, no longer trying to resist. He could see that she was struggling to say something but couldn’t get the words out. Reining in his growing need, the man put his ear close to her lips to listen.

  “Help…me,” she managed to rasp out before a weak cough silenced her attempt to say more.

  “Yes, oh yes, I’ll help you,” the man panted, his voice soft but shaking with emotion.

  He tightened the belt using all his strength. Satisfaction coursed through his body, making even the hateful voice inside his head recede underneath the roar of bliss that consumed him. He watched her eyes glaze over, felt her heat and energy fade.

  Then, as he collapsed with his full weight on her limp body, the sensations diminished and began to fade away. He raised his head and looked into the girl’s dead eyes. Something felt wrong. He felt like he’d been cheated somehow. The experience hadn’t been as powerful as he had remembered.

  This time the rush hadn’t been as good as he’d gotten with Tiffany. Maybe it was because this girl had been sick and stoned, only half conscious really. She hadn’t even known what was going on, couldn’t appreciate the fact that he was freeing her, redeeming her.

  Tiffany had stayed alert until the end, and then her energy had flooded into him, filled him, stayed with him. With Tiffany he had been satiated for a long time. But this time his need hadn’t been quenched. This time he was left unfulfilled.

  Maybe the poor girl wasn’t the right one after all.

  Too late to think about that now though. He needed to figure out how to get rid of her body before anyone came to the room. The other girls would be back soon. He knew if he was caught, he would likely end up in prison, either on death row or serving a life sentence.

  Men like him didn’t do well in prison. And the outcome for him would be even worse if the guys in Miami found out. They didn’t tolerate anyone stealing from them, whether it be girls, drugs, or whatever else they happened to be dealing.

  They were savages, irredeemable degenerates, and they would never understand that he’d been compelled to rescue the girl from the life of depravity they’d intended for her.

  His head began to ache as he planned out his next move. He would make it looked like she had fallen into the canal, or maybe jumped, just in case her body was discovered. The other girls would confirm that she’d been sick and depressed. She’d likely been begging to go home. They all wanted to go home at the end.

  He looked around the room and saw a pile of clothes in the corner. He picked up a skirt and a tank top and dressed the thin, bruised body. He looked around for shoes but couldn’t find any, and he couldn’t risk spending any more time looking for them.

  If they find her, they’ll just think her shoes floated away.

  He wrapped the rough blue bedspread around the girl and dragged her toward the door. He parted the curtains and peered out into the corridor. It was empty. The cover of the dark awaited past a few feet of dirty concrete. And past that was a short walk to the water’s edge.

  The water would cleanse them both, erase all traces of their sins. If luck was with him, the girl would be washed out to the river and into the bay before anyone came looking for her. He assured himself that his mission had been worth the risk; no one could ever hurt the girl again.

  Chapter Two

  Eden Winthrop looked at the clock and grimaced. She would be home late again. Guilt pierced her as she thought of Hope and Devon eating dinner and preparing for bed without her. Thank goodness she had Sage now to make sure her niece and nephew ate their veggies and washed behind their ears.

  After a string of nannies had failed to fit in with their unconventional family, Eden had been relieved to find Sage Parsons, a young woman who possessed a calm, unflappable kindness that seemed to make Hope and Devon feel safe.

  And no one needs to feel safe more than those poor kids, Eden thought, the guilt resurfacing on cue. Which is why I should be home with them instead of here.

  Eden bit her lip and turned back to her computer. How could she go home when there was so much left to do? During the last twelve hours social services had called in five separate requests for emergency placements, and Eden had been determined to help all the women find shelter.

  Each woman had escaped an abusive partner. Three of the women had children. One woman had custody of her four grandchildren. They all needed a place to sleep and food to eat, and she had been relieved to find enough rooms available within the foundation’s network of safe houses.

  An hour earlier she had settled the last woman into the 1408 Shutter Street location and was sitting in the facility’s reception office reviewing the current status of rooms and resources on the foundation’s computer. She noted that only one room was still unoccupied and available.

  What will happen if tomorrow is another busy day?

  Her biggest fear was having to turn someone away. Someone who might not have anywhere else to go. Someone like Mercy.

  Eden shook her head to clear the unwanted thoughts, determined not to go down that path again. She stared at a spreadsheet of volunteers, wishing she could make the available resources somehow magically match those needed.

  Why are the shelters always so full this time of year? she wondered.

  It seemed summer was always an especially busy time. Perhaps the blistering Florida heat pushed already hot tempers over the boiling point, or maybe it was the daily thunderstorms that rolled through Willow Bay each afternoon, the torrential rain trapping residents inside their houses. Whatever the cause, the increase in domestic violence was stretching the foundation’s resources to their limit.

  "Motion detected at door number one," an automated voice announced, just as a wall-mounted security monitor displayed a small, pale face dominated by an alarmingly swollen black eye.

  The face was ringed by a halo of messy platinum blonde curls. Duke stirred at Eden’s feet, his big, dark eyes blinking as both he and Eden stared at the monitor.

  Eden was accustomed to seeing the aftermath of violence on the faces of women seeking shelter at the safe house, but she wasn't used to women showing up unannounced and alone. Standard protocol required staff to call security when any unknown person passed the No Trespassing sign on the perimeter gate.

  Eden’s hand hovered over the telephone then hesitated. There was something familiar about that bruised face, something in the defiant tilt of the swollen chin. Her finger impulsively pushed the intercom button.

  “Hello, how can I help you?” Eden said, not taking her eyes off the monitor, watching for the girl’s reaction. Had there been a mix-up? Could this be a new resident Eden hadn’t met yet?

  The girl turned her head toward the sound of Eden’s voice and tried to focus on the camera positioned above the door.

  “Let me in!” The girl’s voice was urgent, but the words came out as little more than a hoarse whisper. She looked over her shoulder, as if worried she had been followed, and said, “I got away, but they’ll come after me. I need a place to stay. Please...”

  Letting the girl inside would break an ironclad rule: never open the safe house door to a stranger. Eden hesitated, her eyes moving from the security monitor to the large, framed portrait on the wall above the desk. A serene young woman with laughing blue eyes and a shy smile looked back. Those same blue eyes had been bruised and swollen shut when her sister’s body had been found.

  If someone had helped you that day, Mercy, maybe you’d still be here, Eden thought for the millionth time. If only I’d gotten there in time.

  Her hand moved to the intercom. “Hold on, I’m coming out.”

  Eden rose from the chair, a
nd Duke stood up and trotted over to the door, ready to accompany her wherever she was going. She smiled at the golden retriever’s enthusiasm, but she felt a pang of doubt settle in her stomach as she moved across the room.

  “Stay here, Duke,” she told the dog before opening the door. She didn’t know who the girl was, or if she was a threat. Duke was an emotional support animal, not a guard dog, and she didn’t want to put him in danger.

  Duke’s eyes reproached her. “I’ll be back soon,” she said, wondering who she was trying to reassure more, herself or Duke.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  “Come on in," Eden said, as the girl scurried past her into the brightly lit foyer. She leaned out and surveyed the dark street, wincing as the hot, humid air encircled her. Security lights shone on the wrought iron fence and firmly closed gate.

  The girl must be a good climber, Eden thought, wondering what had made her desperate enough to scale the tall fence.

  The street beyond the gate was quiet as usual. A single car drove past, and Eden watched the red tail lights recede into the dark before closing the door.

  “Okay, follow me,” Eden said over her shoulder as she led the girl down a hall and into the shelter’s last empty resident room. Matching homemade quilts covered twin beds, and two straight-backed chairs flanked a small table. A wicker basket on the table had been filled with packets of nuts and an assortment of granola bars. The cozy room was illuminated with soft light from a floor lamp in the corner.

  “I’m Eden Winthrop, and…” Eden hesitated. She didn’t want to give the girl any information without first finding out who she was and how she’d found the house. Best to keep it simple. “And I work here.”

  The location of each safe house operated by the Mercy Harbor Foundation was closely guarded. If the address of one of the houses was divulged to the wrong person, all the residents would have to be immediately relocated to a different location.