Now that we’re here,
It’s so far away
All the struggle we thought was in vain
All in the mistakes,
One life contained
They all finally start to go away
Now that we’re here it’s so far away
And I feel like I can face the day, and I can forgive
And I’m not ashamed to be the person that I am today
– So Far Away, Staind
Friday, September 12, 2003
General Hospital: Kelly Lee’s Office
Sarah’s surprise visit was able to keep Elizabeth from obsessing about her doctor’s appointment and while dinner with her sister and Jason was a bit awkward, it was drama free. They dropped Sarah back at the condo while they went to the penthouse for the night.
The next morning, they headed to the hospital where Kelly Lee, a doctor Monica had recommended from Buffalo, had been granted temporary privileges and office space to treat Elizabeth, at least for today. She knew she was receiving special treatment from her connection to the Quartermaines, but it was hard to argue with it when it benefited her and the possibility of keeping her child.
From the moment Elizabeth and Jason entered Kelly’s office at General Hospital, she felt a weight lift off her shoulders. Kelly was enthusiastic, warm, and most importantly — direct.
“I can understand your cardiologist’s concern,” Kelly said as she looked through Elizabeth’s chart. “You’ve had a difficult few months health wise. That being said…” She lifted her eyes to the nervous couple seated in front of her. “Your recent scans are clear for blood clots, your bloodwork is clean, and none of the tests you’ve had so far show any damage to your heart and lungs.”
Elizabeth exhaled slowly and looked at Jason. He took her hand in his, squeezing it. “So, it’s not crazy to think I could carry this baby to term and be okay?”
“It’s not crazy, no,” Kelly told her. “But we also can’t ignore that Dr. Quartermaine is entirely correct. You are at an elevated risk for another embolism, and pregnancy does place stress on the body that you probably don’t really need right now. That being said, there are a lot of things we can do to monitor you and stay on top of any problems.”
Elizabeth closed her eyes, bit her lip. “But I can—I can keep the baby.”
“I’m sure you’ve both been through a lot since you found out a few days ago,” Kelly said when Elizabeth opened her eyes, looked at her. “Looking at your records, you had some scary close calls, Miss Webber.” She flicked her eyes to Jason. “And I’m sure that was difficult to watch. But you’re on blood thinners. Usually, we take you off those about ninety days after the embolism, but we’ll keep you on them for the duration of the pregnancy.”
She scribbled something else. “You’ll see me monthly—Dr. Quartermaine—the Chief of Staff—offered me a staff position so I won’t just be a visiting doctor. At home, however, I want you to monitor your pulse daily and your blood pressure once a week. Any deviation from the norm, you’re to come straight to the hospital so we can look into it.”
Elizabeth stared at her for a long moment. “But—but that’s it? That’s all we can do—”
“Well, normally, I’d remind you to take it easy. To avoid stress, but I understand you’re due to testify in a trial,” Kelly told her. “We’ll keep a close eye on you during that period, but honestly, Elizabeth, considering how fragile your situation was two months ago, you’ve gotten yourself back into decent enough shape that we can get you through this.”
She tipped her head. “But no unnecessary activity. Take it easy. Pregnancy can cause extreme fatigue, and you’re still rebuilding your stamina. If you feel tired, sit down. If you feel dizzy, lay down, call me. Try to avoid being alone for long stretches of time or make sure there’s always someone there to take your call.”
Kelly waited a long moment. “Are you a high-risk pregnancy? Yes. Do I think you need to worry? Not all the time. From your case file, it looks like the symptoms of your blood clots were masked by the drugs your ex-husband was giving you. But you’re aware of the symptoms now.” She leaned forward. “Follow my directions to the letter, and I honestly think you have an excellent chance of a smooth pregnancy.”
She tapped her pencil against the desk blotter. “Where we might have issues is delivery and directly after. We can discuss it as we get closer to your due date, but I might want to check you in ahead of time to monitor you closely in case a clot develops.”
They scheduled a follow-up appointment along with an ultrasound, and before Elizabeth knew it, the two of them were in the hallway of the hospital on their way to the elevator.
“I feel…” Elizabeth managed a laugh. She led Jason to a small alcove near the elevators and sat down on the sofa. “I feel so silly for all the drama and the crying, and the—” She shook her head. “She made it sound so easy.”
“Yeah, I have to admit, she’s not asking you to do anything much differently than you did after you left the hospital.” Jason took Elizabeth’s hand in his and held it palm side up, tracing the veins of her wrist. “And to be honest—”
“You already take my pulse at least once a day, if not more,” Elizabeth finished. “Yeah, I noticed.” She exhaled slowly. “I mean—we can—we can think about what’s next now. Because—I mean obviously we’re going forward with this.” She met his eyes. “Now that it’s—it’s safe. We can be happy. If you…”
“I am happy,” Jason told, softening his voice. “I was…afraid to be happy. I didn’t want to get used to the idea until we knew—”
“Until we knew,” she repeated when he stopped talking. She turned her hand back over and laced her fingers in his. “We’re having a baby.” Her smile spread until her cheeks nearly ached from it. “Maybe your mother—I mean, Monica—maybe she was right. Maybe this part is the miracle. Why we survived last summer.”
“You don’t have—you can call her my mother,” Jason told Elizabeth. “So, you said we can think about what’s next. We haven’t talked about it, but if your medical records are open to Ric—”
“He’ll know about the baby,” Elizabeth finished. She pressed her lips together. “Yeah, I talked to Bobbie about it, and I’d be insane not to worry about it. The miscarriage tipped Ric over the edge, so if he finds out I’m pregnant again—after what happened with that stuff in the papers…” She shook her head, her smile fading slightly. “I’m a little nervous.”
“That’s why I want—I want to move to the penthouse,” Jason told her. “You can do whatever you want to it, but as secure as the condo is—”
“The Towers are a fortress,” Elizabeth finished with a nod. “Yeah. We can do that.” At his surprised look, she shrugged. “I needed a place to get myself together. And the condo was great for that. And if it were just me, maybe we could discuss it further, but I remember how secure the penthouse was last year. All of that stuff you guys installed after that bomb got up to Sonny’s a few years ago and everything.”
She got to her feet and they started for the elevators. After she pressed the down button, Elizabeth said, “I also want to let Scott Baldwin know.” When Jason grimaced slightly, she continued, “I don’t want him to be blindsided if Ric finds out from my records. After he offered to make a deal when it would be better publicity for him to go to trial, I feel like I owe it to him to be fair.”
“Okay.” Jason wrapped an arm around her shoulders and kissed the top of her head. “Whatever you need, that’s what we’ll do.”
Corinthos Penthouse: Living Room
Carly checked her watch and scowled, tapping her foot nervously against the floor as she stared at a magazine. She just wanted Jason to call and tell her about the doctor’s appointment—she was worried about both of them if the doctor gave them bad news.
She didn’t know if she actually liked Elizabeth Webber, but after everything they’d been through together, the least Carly owed Jason and Elizabeth was civility and her support.
She eyed her husband, pouring yet another bourbon at the minibar. Since Sonny was determined to be a jackass—
Her phone rang and Carly almost fumbled it in her haste to open it, but—” Oh, hey, Mama. No, he didn’t call me yet. You either?”
Sonny turned to look at her, a questioning look in his eyes. She silently shook her head as Bobbie continued to talk. “Oh, man. I mean…you warned me, I guess. Yeah. Okay. We’ll deal with it. Don’t worry, it’s not your fault. I’ll call you if I hear anything.”
Carly closed her phone, then pressed it to her forehead, silently counting to five before looking at her husband. “She was calling because she got a subpoena from Ric.”
Sonny grimaced but sighed. “That makes sense. She was there the day you were found and helped look—” He stared at her. “What?”
“She was also there when you had your breakdown, Sonny. And she didn’t tell Scott outright, but he knew enough that the judge decided it was Brady material—” When Sonny scowled, she hurried to add, “He would have been in trouble if he didn’t turn over whatever he knew about you—”
“Fucking Baldwin,” Sonny muttered. He threw back his bourbon. “So, your mother is just going to spill her guts? She could get in trouble for giving me that injection, you know? Why doesn’t she plead the Fifth?”
“No one who knows about that is going to tell anyone.” Carly pulled herself to her feet and planted her hands on her hips. “What’s the big problem, Sonny? Even if Ric makes you testify about your breakdown, it doesn’t change anything—”
“If you would just let me take care of that little fucker, we wouldn’t have to worry about this!” Sonny roared. “And now my mental health is going to be on everyone’s lips! I’m gonna look even weaker than I already do!”
Carly rolled her eyes. “Oh, God, Sonny, is that what you’re worried about? Typical. You had a breakdown because I was gone. That just makes you sympathetic—”
“You think Anthony Zacchara is going to find me sympathetic?” Sonny demanded as he stalked towards her. “What about Hector Ruiz or Sammy Tagliatti? You think any one of them is going to think it’s no big deal that I was hallucinating my dead wife?”
She exhaled slowly. “We talked about this. You’re not touching Ric. Not before the trial—”
“You know if I get rid of that asshole DA, that would take care of this too,” Sonny muttered. “Get rid of Baldwin, and the case gets postponed. No trial. No deal.”
Carly’s blood felt frozen beneath her skin as she stared at her husband. “Are you—are you threatening the district—you’re not serious, are you? What the hell is wrong with you?”
“You seem to forget who I am, Carly.” Sonny pressed a hand to his chest, his eyes bulging with fury. “I am fucking Sonny Corinthos and no one is going to make me look weak. The only reason Ric is still alive is—” He shook his head and turned away from her.
Pressure built behind her eyes as she struggled to form the next words. “Because Jason refused to do anything. And you don’t have the connections to do it without him.” She fisted her hands at her side. “What, did Jason tell everyone who works under you to leave Ric alone? Did you already try to give the order, Sonny? After everything we talked about—did you try to have Ric killed?”
Sonny didn’t answer her and just poured himself another drink.
“If you touch Scott Baldwin, if you go after Ric, Sonny, after everything we’ve talked about—everything I’ve been through—” Tears slid down her cheek. “That’s it. I’m gone. We’re done.”
He turned back to look at her. “Well, maybe that would be for the best,” he said simply.
Her heart pounding, she nodded. “Yeah, maybe it is. I’ll have Leticia pack Michael up. We’ll go to my mother’s.”
And when Sonny didn’t say anything else, Carly went upstairs and started to pack.
Taggert had planned to visit Chicago to interview Theresa Lopez, the victim of the April 1999 attack, but he’d gotten lucky — she had flown in for her grandmother’s birthday and agreed to talk to him. Even better, he’d finally managed to convince all three victims from earlier that year to talk to him as well. Provided they met out in the open, away from the PCPD, and not in their own homes.
He spoke to Theresa first. She was no more than five foot three, maybe a hundred and ten pounds with brown eyes and pale skin. In the photos taken in the hospital four years earlier, her had been a deep chestnut brown, worn long with a tendency to curl.
Her attacker, the report read, had wrapped that hair around his first. Smelled it. Commented on it.
It was now short, in what his ex-girlfriend Hannah Scott had called a pixie cut, he remembered. And ash blonde.
He couldn’t blame her.
“Did you find him?” she asked flatly after she took a seat across the table from him, a large flowered purse held in her lap, her arms wrapped around it as if she could use it as a weapon any moment.
“No,” Taggert admitted. “But we have a lead—”
“Great. A lead,” she repeated, those eyes flashing. “You brought this back because maybe—”
“We’ve linked your case to others,” Taggert cut in as gently as possible. “Your kit was processed and came back with a match to a few other open cases. There’s no hit in the national database, but if his profile is ever put in there, we’ll be able to match it. But we’re actively pursuing him, Ms. Lopez.”
Her shoulders deflated and she looked away. “They didn’t test it back then. No suspect. It made no damn sense to me, you know? How the hell do you get a suspect without—” She shook her head. “And the first cop was an ass. He blamed me.”
As that first cop had been that lazy son of a bitch Vinnie Esposito, this didn’t surprise him in the slightest. “You don’t need this from me, but it wasn’t your fault.”
“Yeah, well thousands of dollars in therapy later,” she muttered. She huffed, looked at him. “What do you need from me?”
Taggert hesitated. “I need to take your statement. The one we have is a bit…” Incomplete. Half-assed. “There are questions you weren’t asked. Some ground I wanted to cover.”
“Because there’s this link, you said.” Theresa nodded.
She’d gone to the movies with a friend, she told him. A girl friend, so they’d met there and parted ways. She didn’t have a car then and the theater wasn’t far from her house. If she cut across Port Charles Park, she could be home in ten minutes.
“But I tripped over a stupid rock,” Theresa sighed. “Or a crack in the pavement. I don’t remember now. My sneaker was untied, so I stopped at the fountain.”
“The one on the north side of the park, closer to the movie theater. It wasn’t really cold. One of the first nights it wasn’t freezing, so I only had a windbreaker on. I sat on the bench, before I could tie my shoe…” Theresa looked away. “He grabbed me. I kicked, tried to scream. I never did see that sneaker again. Flew right off my foot.”
It was sitting in an evidence bag, found soaking wet in the fountain when the crime scene investigators had swept the scene, but Taggert didn’t tell her that.
“He threw me to the ground,” Theresa said, her voice as flat and lifeless. “And he hit me. Hard in the face. And he grabbed my head, slammed it against the ground. I—I saw stars for a minute and by the time I could breathe—he’d flipped me on my stomach and handcuffed me.”
Taggert’s pencil slipped and he looked up. “Handcuffed.”
“Easier to hold me down when I can’t use my hands.” Theresa pressed her lips together. “I guess. I don’t know. He put me on my back. God, my fucking hands hurt. I was terrified, but all I could think was how tight the cuffs were. I didn’t—I didn’t tell that other cop that. I didn’t remember it.”
“I didn’t remember most of it,” she admitted. “Not until later. When my parents made me go to therapy after I tried to kill myself the first time.” She picked up the glass of water, her hands shaking a little. “But now it’s all I can remember. How much my hands hurt, how my shoulders felt like the muscles were being ripped into two. I guess it distracted me, because the next thing I knew, my jeans were off, and—”
Her voice broke. She took a deep breath. A huge gulp of water. Taggert said nothing, just sat there. Let her do it in her own way.
“He jammed himself inside me, and God it, hurt so fucking much. I wasn’t a virgin, I’d had one boyfriend steady since I was a freshman. Was having sex regularly. I tell you that because I know how it’s supposed to feel—”
Her eyes fastened on his. “It’s the only way I got through it. I cried to my boyfriend in the hospital. I’d felt like I cheated on him, and God, he just—he never said a word against me. I pushed him away. Refused to see him, and he stuck. We’re still together.” She flattened her hand on the table. And now he saw a tiny diamond glinting. “Maybe we wouldn’t have made it if this happened, but he stuck with me through this and I guess once you go through the worst thing and get through the other side, all the other drama seems like bullshit.”
She exhaled slowly. “I don’t know how long it took. It felt like forever. And it felt like a few seconds. He had his hand in my hair the whole time. Talked about how nice it smelled, but it wasn’t the best. It wasn’t right,” she said slowly. “That’s what he said. He finished, hit me a few more times—and the last time, he hit me so hard, I blacked out. That’s why it got reported. Because I was unconscious, and someone found me. I don’t know if I would have called anyone, and after I met Officer Fuckface, I didn’t want to keep going. Another guy came later. Garcia or something. He was nicer, but I couldn’t—after the first one, I just didn’t want to talk to the PCPD anymore.”
Taggert hesitated. “I’m sorry—”
“He told me that maybe I shouldn’t walk at night,” Theresa said flatly. “Like I’m not a fucking taxpayer. Like it’s my fault some asshole needed to prove something to himself. But I didn’t get angry then. I blamed myself. And after the first six months, I took a bunch of pills and tried to make it stop. But my mom found me and committed me to the psych ward. Told me I had to do something. My boyfriend cried. My dad cried.”
She looked at her hands. “I’d never seen either of them do that and I guess I realized what it would do to them. Even if my pain stopped, theirs would just start. And I didn’t want that. So, I went to therapy. And I got through it.
“Did any of that help?” Theresa asked after a long moment.
“Yeah.” Taggert set his pen down. “I’m sorry that the first cop you talked to was an asshole. I can’t make excuses for him. And I wish I could promise you I’ll get him. That’s not a guarantee I can make.”
“I guess not.”
“But this case is all I’m working on,” he continued. “And I’m not going to give up until there’s nothing left to do.”
“You said there were others,” Theresa said. “How many?”
“Six,” he admitted. “One before you. Another after you. And then nothing until four this year.”
“Four this year.” She exhaled slowly. “He’s still…he’s still out there.”
“Yeah. But…” He looked at her hair. “Keep the blonde hair. Keep it short.”
“All long-haired brunettes.” Theresa nodded. “I was thinking about growing it out for the wedding next year, but I think I’ll go get my roots touched up.”
She left then, and a half hour later, Dana Watson arrived. She was only twenty-one and according to the photos, in February, she’d been a brunette with long, curly hair.
It was now a chin-length bob, worn stick straight and dyed a firetruck red. And her story was similar to Theresa Lopez. Identical, even, Taggert thought as he considered it later. On her way home from the movies. Had stopped by the angel fountain to check the time on her cell phone because she’d forgotten to put on her watch that morning.
Grabbed. Handcuffed. Hit. Her attacker had also commented on her hair. Had also smelled it. Said it wasn’t right. Had hit her hard enough to knock her unconscious.
Her story, Taggert thought later at his desk at the station, was all but identical to all the other statements. After Theresa and Dana, he’d also met with Renee and Wendy. He’d talked to Veronica Logan on the phone earlier that morning, the last victim from the first round of attacks.
All of them had described stopping at a fountain in the park, being grabbed. Handcuffed, then hit. The attacker had smelled their hair—
And then hit them hard enough to cause unconsciousness when it didn’t smell right.
While Elizabeth’s statement hadn’t been very detailed—Taggert knew she hadn’t remembered a lot of the attack during that first interview—he knew her case was different. She’d walked away from her attack and didn’t report being hit in the face at all.
He wondered, with therapy and the passage of time, if she’d remember any comments about her hair or if she’d been handcuffed. Had that detail come back to her like it had for Theresa?
Six young women with long brown hair had been attacked after her and had been told their hair wasn’t right. They’d been beaten more. Knocked unconscious for someone else to find. It was possible Elizabeth had just been his first victim, someone who whet the appetite for more brutality and sadism, but there was also the distinct possibility that somehow…
Elizabeth had been the trigger, the victim he kept searching out, the attack he kept trying to recreate.
Taggert exhaled slowly and pushed the files away. He’d put it off long enough, but it was time to bring Elizabeth into the investigation.
Port Charles Airport: Arrivals Hall
Kelsey exhaled slowly as she studied the notes Lucky had passed her when they’d left work that night, heading to the airport. She wasn’t nervous.
Not even a little bit.
She’d already met his aunt and his sister. They liked her. Lucky got along with her mother and hadn’t even scowled at Scott Baldwin the night she’d dragged him to dinner with her boss.
Two months into their relationship, everything was going great. They clicked intellectually, he was sexy as hell, great in bed, funny—
Outside of a dormant blood feud with some supervillain and a bout of brainwashing, Lucky Spencer was basically perfect.
So, what the hell was her problem?
Lucky reached over and put a hand on her knee. Kelsey scowled down at it—she hadn’t even realized it was bouncing up and down and she restlessly tapped her foot. “I’m not nervous.”
“I met your aunt.”
“And your sister is crazy. I think she asked me a thousand questions and if she weren’t only eighteen, I’d be worried she was running a background check. But she likes me.”
“So does my aunt.”
Kelsey narrowed her eyes at his easy tone. “I’m not nervous. He’s just your brother.” She huffed. “A Russian prince who has more money than God, a villainous grandmother, and a castle in the middle of the lake. Completely normal.”
“He is normal.” Lucky reached for her hand, covered it with his. “He used to have a giant stick up his ass, but we yanked it out years ago.”
She laughed, rolled her eyes. “Okay, well, that’s a weird thing for brothers to do, but whatever.” She glanced back up at the arrivals board. The private flight from London had landed, which meant the prince was somewhere in Customs. “I guess you read over Taggert’s interview notes from today.”
“Yeah.” Lucky took them back from her. “He’s going to talk to Elizabeth tomorrow. I guess he wants to give her one more night before—”
“All of these women—” Kelsey shook her head. “And the way they talked about the responding officer—Vinnie’s not just lazy, Lucky. He’s a misogynistic asshole who has no business being anywhere near rape victims. And apparently, he was in Special Victims while he was in Buffalo. How many women did he chase away? Did he scare? Blame?”
“Yeah. I know. I read the notes from Theresa’s interview. She attempted suicide six months later. With pills. Just like Brooke.” Lucky was quiet for a long moment. “We put them all through this again, but what did we even learn? Nothing.”
“Hey. Don’t count the statements out yet. We’ll get Elizabeth to come in, do her own follow-up, and then we’ll look at all the cases together. So much about them is the same, you know? But where they’re different—” She touched his arm. “That’s how we’re going to get him. He’s not a mastermind, Lucky. He’s just a sick, sadistic asshole. We know him now.”
“Yeah. Well, we’ll see.” Lucky gestured as a man with dark hair walked through the door of the arrival hall, a few men behind him pushing a baggage cart. “Come meet my brother.”
Kelsey slid her files into her bag and put away dark thoughts of serial rapists. She rose to extend a hand to Nikolas Cassadine, who smiled warmly at her and leaned in to kiss her cheek. “It’s nice to meet you in person.”
“You, as well.” Nikolas released her hand, then rested it on his brother’s shoulder with a teasing grin. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Lucky rolled his eyes but embraced his brother. “You still up for dinner or do you want to head home to get some sleep?”
“I slept on the plane, and I’m looking forward to getting to know Kelsey. You’ve managed to win over our sister, Miss Joyce,” Nikolas said as he took Kelsey’s arm in his. “Do you know hard it is to impress Lesly Lu Spencer?”
“Hopefully harder than it is to impress a Russian prince,” Kelsey offered as they started out of airport. “But I guess we’ll find out.”
PCPD: Conference Room
Scott leaned back in the chair and grimaced. “Any idea why Elizabeth wanted to meet with the both of us?” he asked Taggert as the lieutenant took his seat. “You think she knows about her case?”
“I don’t know,” Taggert said, tossing a folder on the table. “Spencer swears up and down that he didn’t tell her—that he’s not in any hurry to bring that up for her either. Maybe it’s about the Lansing case.” He shrugged. “Maybe she’s changed her mind about not wanting to go to trial.”
Scott’s grimace deepened. “I could live with that, but—”
The door opened then, and another officer stuck his head in the door. “Miss Webber is here. You ready for her?”
“Yeah, let her in.” Both Scott and Taggert stood as Elizabeth entered in, one of her hands clutching the strap of her purse at the shoulder. “Elizabeth, what’s on your mind?” Scott asked as he gestured for her to take a seat.
“Oh. Well…” Elizabeth sat and waited for them both to retake their seats. “I wanted you both to be the first—well, the first outside of my friends and family to know—because I don’t want either of you to be surprised if it ends up in my medical reports for the trial.” She looked at Scott. “I’m pregnant.”
There was a long beat of silence as Scott digested that news, then looked at Taggert who looked very uncomfortable. “Ah—”
“My doctors—Monica and the OB I’m seeing—they’re going to do what they can to keep it from being obvious. Monica ran some tests at my checkup which gave the positive result, but while she’s consulting with my OB, her name never appears in the file.” Elizabeth bit her lip. “I don’t think this counts as something you’d have to tell Ric, right?”
“Ah…” Scott pressed his lips together, still a little thrown. “Ah, no. I don’t think so. I mean, I have to tell him anything that might be evidence of his innocence.” He furrowed his brow. “Maybe if it discredits a witness or contradicts them, but I’ve got a lot of leeway with discretion.” He looked at Taggert. “Now, Ric would claim it’s evidence of an affair, am I right?”
“Yeah, probably.” Taggert cleared his throat, fidgeting slightly in his seat. “But I filed a report on the assault charges at the time. It was, and remains, my official opinion that the Sun was fed a false story in order to shake up the case. That’s the official PCPD statement as well, and Capelli was reprimanded for it.”
He looked at Elizabeth. “Are…are you okay? I mean, it’s not too soon?”
“My OB is optimistic that as long as I try to avoid stress and monitor my vitals I should be okay, but I was worried that Ric might get this information as part of my medical records, and I wanted you to be prepared for it, Mr. Baldwin.”
“Well, I appreciate that, Elizabeth. Like I said, there are a couple of things I’m being forced to hand over to Lansing—because he’s specifically requested it. If, as you say, the breadcrumbs are in your file and he doesn’t notice it, then, well…” Scott shrugged. “Not my problem, right?”
Elizabeth visibly relaxed, her shoulder slumping. “Thank you. I—I’ll be relocating to the Towers, though, starting this weekend. With Ric out on bail, even with the protective order, we’re both worried what he might do if he does figure out I’m pregnant.”
“After what he did when he just thought you were having an affair, I think that’s probably a smart move.”
Elizabeth thanked them again, then left. Scott turned to Taggert and just stared at him, the cop looking down almost blindly at the table.
“Avoid stress,” Scott repeated. “She’s supposed to avoid stress at the same time I’m prepping her to testify against a man who tried to kill her and—” He scowled, thinking back to the therapy notes he’d read. He knew more about Elizabeth Webber’s psyche than he ever needed to know anyone’s. “You’re investigating her rape which was bungled by the cops—”
“It’s more than that,” Taggert said with a sigh. “I interviewed the last of the previous victims today and started to really put together a picture of this guy. Scott, I don’t think Elizabeth is just the first known victim—she might be the first victim. The trigger victim. I think this guy knows her.”
“Fuck me.” Scott scrubbed his hands over his face. “Tell me everything.”