Page 30 of The First Hunt (The Final Hunt)

JOHN

J ohn separated the navy-blue curtains and peered out his upstairs bedroom window, watching Holly return to work.

His bedroom gave him a clear view into Holly’s office window.

It had been hard for him not to react when he’d seen the photo of the woman who’d disappeared from Albertson’s a few nights ago tacked to her wall.

What if his dad had picked her up and killed her after John went to bed that night?

What worried John more was the list of names Holly had written beneath Bus Stop Killer .

John had never heard that nickname before.

Not everything on Holly’s wall was right, but she was a hell of a lot closer to the truth than the police were.

It had taken all his willpower not to show his amazement—and fear—after seeing those familiar faces laid out like that.

John studied the true crime author as she pulled a pair of headphones over her head and began to type.

Holly Sparks was a problem. His dad had been much more careful about his kills over the last five years, and it seemed so had the Green River Killer.

How had this crime writer connected the dots to Sally and Jennifer Duran when even the cops couldn’t figure it out?

What if she somehow connected them to his dad?

It made his heart hammer in his chest like a trapped bird.

John vividly recalled the moment when he asked his dad if he’d killed Jennifer Duran.

It was right after they’d gotten home from Fairbanks where John had seen the news in the motel that the Seattle waitress’s body had been discovered.

His father had admitted it, and it had been the last time he’d spoken to John about his kills.

John lowered his gaze to Holly’s kitchen window on the first floor, glad now that he’d done what he did. He knew Holly was staying next door only temporarily, hiding out from her abusive ex-fiancé. But every day she stayed in that house posed a risk to him and his dad.

John had read all of Holly’s books before she moved into Norm and Maurine’s home, and he recalled coming across her author’s note in Behind Closed Doors, where Holly recounted being brutally attacked by her ex-fiancé, a detective for King County Major Crimes in the spring of 1985, the same time his dad had been brought in for questioning.

Yesterday, John had gone to the library to search through old news articles until he’d found an article detailing how the King County Major Crimes detective had been sentenced to prison for the first-degree assault of his fiancé, crime reporter Holly Sparks.

When John had seen the five-year-old photo of Detective Jared Peretti, he’d nearly fallen out of his chair.

He’d never forget the face of the Sylvester Stallone lookalike who’d stuck Sally’s photo in John’s face, shouting at him to confess while John’s father had banged on the door to the room.

It was ironic yet satisfying that the asshole detective had gone to prison, not his father.

John returned his attention to the window of Holly’s upstairs office, looking beyond the writer seated at her desk to the lists of murder victims and map that covered the wall. Dread coiled in his gut like a cold, tightening vise. John couldn’t let her uncover what had really happened.

He thought back to their conversation in Holly’s office, wishing he hadn’t told her about his mom’s death. What if she starts looking into that too? He should’ve just let her believe his parents were divorced. She won’t, he reassured himself. She has no reason to look into what happened to my mom.

Part of him wanted Holly to know, and that scared him.

Even though no one could know the truth besides him and his dad, it bothered John that they never talked about it.

Ever since that trip to Fairbanks, John had felt his dad shrink away from him.

It drove John crazy that they never talked about what happened to Sally, Jennifer Duran, or the woman found in that ditch in Fairbanks.

His father’s growing distance had made John feel like he’d done something wrong. But deep down, John knew his dad had nothing to be upset with him about. When they’d gotten home from that Fairbanks trip, John had asked his dad why he was acting so different.

I showed you some things about me too soon, his dad had said. Maybe I was wrong. I should’ve waited until you were older.

John had tried to assure him it wasn’t too soon; he’d wanted to know who his dad really was. But his dad had pulled away, nevertheless. They felt like strangers now, pretending to live a normal, mundane life under the weight of long-kept secrets, though John knew they weren't normal at all.

And here he was, fifteen years old, and his father still treated him like a child. How long would it take for his dad to see him as an equal? As a man?

John heard the faint ringing of Holly’s phone on her downstairs kitchen wall. She slipped off her headphones and tilted her head toward the noise. John backed away from the window so she wouldn’t catch him watching as she rose to her feet.

From the shadows of his room, John kept his eyes on the house next door until he spotted Holly entering the kitchen and picking up the phone. A stack of mail lay on the counter beside her. She’d be gone soon. He just needed to be patient.

John crossed his room, picked up the phone off the nightstand, and held it to his ear.

He recognized Laurie’s voice on the line talking to Holly.

Thankfully, his dad and their cul-de-sac neighbors were still sharing a party line.

Normally, John found it annoying when the line was tied up because his father and their neighbors stayed stuck in the past to save a few pennies.

But John had never needed to keep tabs on any of their neighbors before.

He sat on his bed and moved the mouthpiece toward his neck so they wouldn’t hear his breathing. Man, did Laurie love to hear herself talk.

Since he was grounded, he wouldn’t be going anywhere for the rest of the night.

John lifted his borrowed copy of In Cold Blood off the foot of the bed and turned on the bedside lamp.

Being forced to stay at home wasn’t really a punishment when he had a good book.

He wondered how long Laurie would keep Holly on the line.

He probably wouldn’t learn anything useful by listening, and he was dying to start the book Holly had loaned him.

His dad didn’t understand his love of reading. Said he’d gotten it from his mother. Lately, it seemed to be another thing that widened the chasm between them. John reclined against his headboard and opened In Cold Blood to the dedication.

John’s ears perked up, hearing Laurie say his dad’s name on the other end of the line. He set the book down on the bed beside him and gave Holly’s phone call his full attention.