Page 130 of The Dollmaker

“You’re wrong,” Veronica said. “How long has it been since you two saw each other? Twelve years?”

“If you’ll follow me, Ms.Hayes,” Dr.Kincaid interjected.

Shaking her head again, Veronica followed, her high heels clipping the tiled floor in firm taps. They entered an exam room. No instruments were on display, and the stainless-steel sinks glistened. In the center of the room was a gurney and on it a draped body.

Veronica stopped in her tracks, her body stiffening.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Dr.Kincaid asked. “We made a positive identification from her fingerprints.”

“I need to see her,” Veronica said. Some of the conviction in her voice had vanished.

Dr.Kincaid moved to the head of the table. She hesitated only a moment before she peeled back the sheet. The bandages had been stripped from the face, making the healing tattoos appear all the more raw and angry.

Veronica didn’t speak but stared at the face for a long time. “Shit. This cannot be happening. She was only thirty years old.”

So was Diane. And Kara had only been eighteen.

“I’ll meet with your police sketch artist,” Veronica said. Her voice was raw with emotion. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”

He stood in his studio, a strong drink in his hand as he looked at the empty chair that was supposed to be holding his precious Harmony. He shouldn’t have lost his temper with her. God, he’d put so much work into her and if he’d been careful and patient, he could have fixed the damage she’d created.

“Damn.”

He missed her so much that he’d turned on her phone this morning and scrolled through her pictures. He’d read her sister’s frantic texts. “It shouldn’t be this way, Harmony.”

Years ago, he’d acted rashly with his first doll. He’d been watching her for weeks and each night he burned to touch her and remake her into a sweet doll.

She’d been walking home, her body swaying. She was dizzy from her drink. A drink he’d spiked. He’d been ready to offer her help as she approached an intersection. And then the car had hit her.

He could still picture her body flying like a rag doll onto the hood of the car. A woman nearby screamed. People ran to her aid.

So he’d backed away, terrified. He couldn’t be associated with this. Knox would find out. So he’d returned to the party, shaken and anxious. Then he’d seen the other doll.

Kara had been drunk. She walked erratically. She was defenseless. And it bothered him that someone else might take advantage. So he followed her.

He didn’t dare touch her or come too close until she turned onto a darkened side street. It was providence. She was walking toward him. And when she tripped, just feet away from the van, he knew she was meant to be his.

“Kara,” he said.

She struggled to right herself, swayed, and turned, smiling. “Hey, do I know you?”

“Yeah. I was at the party. We danced,” he lied.

“We did?”

He hurried up to her as she shifted and caught her before she fell. “Are you okay?”

“I’m a little drunk,” she said with a giggle.

“It’s okay. You want me to take you home?”

“Would you? That would be great.”

So trusting. He led her back to his van and opened the front passenger door for her. He helped her sit and fastened her seat belt. “Buckle up.”

She giggled. “This is so nice of you. I’m more messed up than I thought.”

“I know. But don’t worry. I’ve got you.”

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