Page 66 of The First Hunt

Holly stared at the photo a moment longer, when two things suddenly made her blood run cold.

Chapter 41

HOLLY

Holly plucked the photo off the mantel.

“I hope you like Merlot. It was all I could find.”

She whipped around at the sound of Clint’s voice, sloshing what was left of her wine onto her white sweater.

“You okay?” His eyes darkened, seeing the framed photograph in her hand.

“Fine, sorry.” She replaced the photo on the mantel, praying he didn’t see her hand tremble. “You startled me. I didn’t hear you come back from the kitchen.”

Holly wanted to scream from what she’d seen in the photograph but tried not to let it show on her face. She cleared her throat, fighting to keep her composure.

“What year was that photo taken?” she managed to ask.

Clint glanced at the photo on the mantel. “About ten years ago.”

That was around the same time Meg died.

His expression hardened when her eyes met his. She worked to calm herself, knowing she had to regain her composure if she wanted to make it home to call Andy.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he said, appearing to study her.

Time seemed to stand still as she stared into Clint’s eyes. In 1980, Clint had brown hair, a young son, and wore a wedding band. He also had a mustache and drove a white pickup.Lou.He was the older guy Meg was seeing. He had to have been.

She smoothed a smile over the fear clawing at her chest. “A ghost? No, it’s my sweater. It’s brand new and it’s um…cashmere.” She dropped her head toward the large wine stain on the front. “Shit, it’s probably ruined.” She lifted her gaze. “Could I use your bathroom? I’ll try to rinse it out before it sets in.”

“Of course.” Clint’s voice was calm, but his eyes were cold.

Holly set the empty glass on the end table beside the couch, avoiding Clint’s chilly stare.

He gestured toward a hallway with his hand. “It’s down this hall, second door on your left.”

“Thanks.” Holly held her breath as she snaked past him, relieved he didn’t reach out and grab her as she moved by. She exhaled and kept walking, a thousand thoughts accosting her mind all at once.

Had Clint killed Meg? Just like he killed Diana? And John’s teacher?

John.She stopped in her tracks, praying Clint wasn’t watching her. If what Meg’s roommate had told Holly was true, that meant Clint was the father of Meg’s child. Did that make John Meg’s son?No,she thought.John is fifteen. Meg’s son is eleven.

She looked at the two matching doors on her left, unable to remember which one Clint said was the bathroom. She darted her gaze toward the front door.Maybe I should go home. Run out of here before Clint tries to kill me too.But she had no evidence he killed Meg. What if Andy didn’t believe her? Clint was clearly a master at getting away with murder.

No, she needed to stay. Keep him talking. This was her chance to see if she could get him to admit knowing her sister.

Holly opened the first door and felt inside for the light switch. She flicked it on. Instead of a bathroom, a plywood staircase lay before her, leading to what looked like an unfinished basement. She turned around, making sure Clint wasn’t watching her, and crept down the steps.

Chapter 42

HOLLY

Holly closed the door behind her, hoping Clint would mistake it for the bathroom, and crept down the stairs. There was no railing, so she pressed a hand against a bare stud in the wall when she neared the bottom. Clint not only matched Callie’s description of Meg’s older boyfriend in 1979, but he also owned a blue Ford car, exactly what Meg and Sally Hickman were seen climbing inside before they died. Holly pictured the car she’d seen in Clint’s garage the other day. It looked to be nearly ten years old. And John would’ve been the right age for the boy the prostitute reported seeing in the backseat. It had been why Jared had brought Clint in for questioning. And been so angry when they’d let him go.

And then there was Clint’s wife, Diana. It was too much of a coincidence for Clint not to have killed them all.

Holly looked around the unfinished basement. There was just enough light streaming through the small windows that faced the backyard for her to make out a large open space. There was no dry wall on the walls, only exposed studs and insulation.

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