Kill Without Mercy

by Alexandra Ivy

  She sipped the hot coffee, studying his finely sculpted features over the rim of her mug. “Were you injured?”

  “Yeah.”

  Short. Concise.

  Clearly unwilling to discuss his past.

  Annie got that. There was nothing worse than rehashing old trauma.

  “I’m sorry,” she murmured softly.

  “Shit happens.” He reached to open the bag, pulling out the pastries that teased her senses with a warm, tantalizing aroma. “Apple fritters, sprinkles, or blueberry muffin?”

  “Blueberry muffin.”

  Her mouth watered as he placed a muffin on a napkin and slid it in front of her. Rafe chose the apple fritter, and a pleasant silence filled the kitchen as they demolished their breakfast.

  Odd. She hadn’t even realized how hungry she was until she was licking the last crumbs.

  Of course, her appetite had been as elusive as sleep over the past week.

  “How do you intend to track down the kidnapper?” she abruptly demanded, not particularly wanting to analyze why her hunger had returned.

  Not when she was fairly certain the reason was sitting across the table.

  “If there’s some lunatic snatching women, the question is how he managed to get his hands on them.” Rafe reached for the computer, pulling up a local map.

  She easily followed his train of thought. “They were both driving back to Newton when they disappeared,” she said.

  “Exactly.” He nodded, pointing at the computer screen. “According to the police report, Jenny Brown left her aunt’s house and was last seen at a gas station a block from the on-ramp to Highway 35.”

  She sent him a startled frown. “How did you get a police report?”

  He shot a quick glance at the tiny red light in the corner of the ceiling. “It’s better not to ask.”

  “Hmm,” she murmured, wondering just what sort of services Rafe and his friends offered at their security firm.

  Corporate takeovers?

  Invasions of small countries?

  He returned his attention to the map on the computer screen, using a finger to trace a path from Des Moines to Newton.

  “Assuming she took the highway, this is the shortest route to Newton.”

  Annie placed her elbows on the table and leaned forward. “Yes.”

  “Brandi was driving from LaClede,” he continued.

  “That’s the opposite direction.”

  “True.” His finger moved to the bottom of the screen to follow the pale blue line that indicated a county road. “But she lives north of town. Their paths would have crossed here.”

  Annie wrinkled her nose. She’d only been back in Newton a couple of days, but it was enough to know that there were few things except cornfields beyond the city limits.

  “There’s nothing there,” she said.

  “I think we should have a look.”

  Her lips parted to ask if he intended to simply drive around in the hopes of stumbling across the poor women, then Rafe turned to study her with a speculative gaze.

  “Oh,” she breathed. “You hope I’ll recognize something from my vision.”

  “I know it’s a long shot, but . . .” His words trailed away as she blinked back the tears that threatened to blind her. “Annie.” He reached across the table to grasp her hand. “Are you okay?”

  She was forced to swallow the lump in her throat, not sure she could properly explain how it felt to have someone accept her visions after a lifetime of being told she was crazy.

  “You’re the first one,” she at last rasped.

  He frowned. “The first one?”

  “To believe me.”

  Rafe had intended to spend the day allowing Annie to settle into his grandfather’s house.

  It was bad enough that she’d been forced to deal with the jackass of a sheriff, but the creepy note had obviously disturbed her more than she was willing to admit.

  She deserved a few hours to relax in a place where she could feel safe.

  But from the second she realized he intended to discover if her visions could lead them to some clue about the missing women, she’d been fiercely eager to begin the search.

  And he . . . hell, he’d been enchanted by the sight of her seated at his kitchen table, licking the crumbs of blueberry muffin from her fingers.

  It was more than the usual fantasy of getting a beautiful female naked. Or the pleasure of seducing her into his grandfather’s antique bed.

  It was the primitive male urge to make sure she was well fed and comfortable in a place he was providing for her. And that nothing and no one could get past his defenses to harm her.

  Dangerous, dangerous thoughts.

  Suddenly a distraction seemed like a very good idea.

  And if they managed to find something that could lead them to the missing women . . . so much the better.

  Now he slowed the truck as he veered off the main road and into the parking lot of the chain convenience store that doubled as a gas station.

  “Here,” he said, pulling to a halt at the edge of the brick store.

  Rolling down his window, he stuck his head out and scanned the area with the eyes of a potential kidnapper.

  There were a few downsides.

  The front of the store had large front windows that allowed the employee inside to keep an eye on the two gas pumps, and the lot was surrounded with tall floodlights that would make the customers visible at night.

  But a closer glance revealed there were no other businesses or houses within miles. And more importantly, all you had to do was step to the side of the building to be completely out of sight.

  If a woman was to pull into the lot and park, it would take only seconds for someone to leap from the shadows and be in her car.

  It wasn’t like anyone locked their doors.

  Not in Newton.

  “A convenience store?” Annie muttered in confusion.

  “It’s probably the only place open all night in this town,” he said, grabbing his phone to type in a short text.

  Annie leaned across the seat, the scent of her shampoo teasing at his nose.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I want Teagan to check and see if Brandi and Jenny were smokers.”

  Rafe had never been addicted to cigarettes, but he had friends who would walk through a fucking minefield if they needed a pack. It was the one sure reason for a young woman to stop at the store. No matter how late it might be.

  “You think the stalker has been taking women from here?” Annie demanded.

  “It’s where I would choose,” he said, shoving the phone back in his pocket as he put the truck into gear.

  Annie made a sound of surprise. “Aren’t we going to see if anyone saw them the night they went missing?”

  He shook his head. “If either of the women had made it inside, the employee would have told someone,” he pointed out. “It’s not often you get to be the last person to see a potential murder victim.”

  Annie grimaced. Was she recalling all the whackos who’d no doubt been anxious to talk about their connection to the Newton Slayer?

  “That makes sense,” she conceded, her brow furrowed. “But if they were taken from the parking lot, what happened to their cars?”

  Rafe drove past the wide, empty space that surrounded the sides and back of the store. “If the killer was waiting at the edge of the building, he could easily get into a car and force the driver to go wherever he wanted.”

  She gave a slow nod, her expression distracted as he pulled out of the lot. “He would have to be staying close enough to walk here,” she abruptly said.

  Avoiding the highway, Rafe turned onto the county road. “Assuming the kidnapper is a reasonably healthy male in his prime, I’d say within a five- or ten-mile radius.”

  “That’s still a lot of territory to search.”

  It was.

  Unfortunately he didn’t have any bright ideas how to narrow it down.

  Not ye
t.

  “We’ll start with this side of the road.”

  He took a right at the first gravel road, driving for a mile before taking another right. He would expand his search outward after he made sure there were no abandoned homes or barns that offered a view of the convenience store.

  Coming to a crossroads, he stomped on the brakes as Annie grabbed his arm.

  “Wait,” she rasped. “Turn left.”

  He obeyed without question. “Do you recognize something?”

  She leaned forward, her hands resting on the dashboard as she studied the recently harvested fields and rolling pastures filled with cattle grazing on bales of hay.

  “Not from the visions, but this place is familiar,” she said, her expression distracted.

  Ten minutes later she pointed toward a narrow path that was lined with trees. “That way.”

  He sent her a teasing smile as they bounced over the deep ruts. “Why, Ms. White, are you trying to lure me into some isolated spot so you can have your wicked way with me?”

  She rolled her eyes. “I’m pretty sure I could have my wicked way with you in the middle of a shopping mall.”

  Rafe gave a short burst of laughter, instinctively reaching out to give her braid a light tug. “I like you, Annie White.”

  “You sound surprised.”

  Did he? He turned his head long enough to catch sight of her delicate profile and the stray curl that brushed her smooth ivory cheek. “I’ll admit you’re the last thing I expected when I traveled to Newton,” he confessed.

  “What did you expect?”

  “Annoyance. Frustration.” He grimaced, recalling his reaction to the message from his Realtor. “Regret.”

  “And instead you’re chasing a potential serial killer.”

  His fingers trailed down the slender length of her throat, his gaze deliberately lowering to the full curve of her lips.

  “That’s not all I’m doing,” he said, his voice husky.

  She sucked in a sharp breath, her cheeks heating with a flustered awareness.

  “Have you considered the fact that your interest in my problems is a perfect way to deflect from dealing with the loss of your grandfather?” she demanded.

  He turned his attention back to the narrow road. “You sound more like a psychologist than an accountant.”

  “Considering the hours I spent in therapy, I could probably qualify as a shrink,” she said dryly.

  “There’s nothing to deflect,” he said, his voice firm. She wasn’t saying anything that he was certain his friends weren’t thinking, but they were all wrong. When he wanted to take his mind off his troubles he got shit-faced drunk and sang karaoke in a country bar. This was . . . okay, he didn’t know what it was, but it had nothing to do with his lack of a relationship with Manuel Vargas. “My grandfather was a stranger to me.” He gave a lift of one shoulder. “I’ll admit it pisses me off that he was such a cantankerous old shit and that he turned his back on my father, but in the end he only hurt himself.”

  “You’re still—”

  “My interest in you has nothing to do with my grandfather,” he interrupted.

  There was no way in hell he was going to let her try and diminish what was happening between them.

  He rounded a curve in the road, tensing as he caught sight of a red pickup blocking their way.

  “Rafe,” Annie breathed.

  “I see him.”

  “Oh my God.”

  Coming to a halt, Rafe covertly reached beneath his seat, pulling out the handgun he’d placed there before heading out.

  “Here.” He pressed it into Annie’s fingers, his gaze locked on the middle-aged man who was walking directly toward them, a shotgun in one hand. “Don’t be afraid to use it if necessary.”

  Chapter Eight

  Hitting the automatic locks, Rafe waited until the man was standing next to his door before rolling down the window a few inches.

  The stranger was dressed in a flannel shirt with jeans and heavy work boots. His hair was hidden beneath a well-worn seed cap and his round face was deeply tanned and chapped from the hours he spent in the sun.

  He looked like a typical farmer, but Rafe wasn’t in the mood to take any chances.

  Not when the stranger was carrying the shotgun like he was willing to use it.

  “Is there a problem?” Rafe asked, keeping his tone polite.

  The man eyed Rafe with open suspicion. “You folks lost?”

  “Just out for a drive.”

  Lifting the gun, he used it to point down the road. “This here’s private property.”

  “We didn’t mean to trespass.” Rafe had his fingers curled around the handle of his door. The farmer was standing close enough that Rafe could easily shove it open and knock the weapon out of his hand. “Like I said¸ we’re just out enjoying the day.”

  Seemingly unimpressed with Rafe’s explanation, the man leaned to the side to glance at Annie.

  “We don’t get many strangers here.”

  “I’m Rafe Vargas. My grandfather was Manuel Vargas.” Rafe turned in his seat, doing his best to block the man’s view of Annie. “And you are?”

  “Mitch Roberts.”

  Intent on the stranger, Rafe was too late to prevent Annie from leaning around his shoulder to stare at the man with a searching gaze.

  “You knew my father,” she said abruptly.

  The man frowned. “Who . . .” He narrowed his dark eyes, his blunt features softening with genuine pleasure. “Annie? Annie White?”

  A tentative smile touched her lips. “Yes.”

  “Well, I’ll be damned. It’s been—what—ten years?”

  “Fifteen.”

  “Fifteen?” Mitch took off his cap to scratch his thinning gray hair before replacing it. “Huh. Doesn’t seem like that long. What are you doing back in Newton?”

  Rafe tensed, but Annie wasn’t a fool. She knew the danger of revealing they were out searching for the missing women.

  Not only from the stalker, but from the local law.

  Sheriff Brock was clearly looking for someone to hold responsible for the kidnappings. And Rafe doubted he truly cared who he managed to pin the blame on.

  “I’m not really sure,” Annie hedged. “I hoped I could have . . . closure.”

  Mitch gave a slow nod, the expression on his ruddy face difficult to read. “My house is just down the drive.” His gaze remained on Annie. “Why don’t you join me for a lemonade?”

  “I’d like that,” Annie instantly agreed.

  “Good.” With a tiny nod toward Rafe, the man turned to make his way back to his vehicle.

  “You don’t mind, do you?” Annie asked as Rafe put the pickup in gear and followed Mitch down the road.

  “Not at all.”

  Driving at a snail’s pace, he kept his eyes peeled for any hint of danger.

  A part of him remained anxious to continue the search for the missing women, but he understood this was important to Annie.

  It was far too easy to believe that Newton was filled with jackasses like the sheriff who were eager to make her feel responsible for her father’s sins. She needed to know there were others who could see her as the little girl who’d been an innocent victim.

  Eventually they reached a white, two-story farmhouse with a screened-in porch and black shutters. The roof was steeply slanted, with a dormer window that overlooked the front yard and a red brick chimney sticking out the top.

  In the distance he could see several outbuildings and grain bins, but Rafe would guess the nearest neighbor was several miles away.

  Rafe did a U-turn at the end of the drive so he was parked in the direction that would take them out of the isolated property. He always liked to be prepared for a quick getaway. Then, reaching over, he took the gun from Annie’s hand. “I think he has something he wants to say to you.”

  “Yeah, me too,” she muttered, climbing out of the vehicle before Rafe could get around to help her.

  He did, ho
wever, manage to reach her as she was moving up the flagstone walkway. Wrapping an arm around her shoulders, he held the handgun in his right hand.

  Mitch was waiting for them at the door to the screened-in porch, his gaze lowering to the weapon.

  “No need for the gun.”

  Rafe shrugged. “Annie isn’t going anywhere unless I’m armed.”

  The older man grimaced. “Fair enough. Can’t be too careful these days,” he muttered, clearly aware of the missing women. Crossing the narrow porch, he led them into the kitchen that had the original cabinets that looked like they’d been recently slapped with a white layer of paint, and a long, deep sink that was now the fashion.

  It smelled of fresh-baked bread and spearmint gum.

  Mitch pointed toward the wooden table in the center of the floor.

  “Have a seat,” he said, moving to the white fridge that chugged like a two-cylinder engine and removing a pitcher of lemonade.

  Then, gathering the glasses, he moved to join them at the table.

  “Thank you,” Annie murmured as she slid into one of the chairs and took a sip of her drink. “It’s delicious.”

  Rafe took a seat next to the wall, not touching the offered beverage although he was polite enough to keep the gun under the table instead of pointed directly at the man’s head.

  See? Who said he didn’t have manners?

  “Is there anyone else here?” he asked, glancing toward the attached dining room that was piled with boxes and old magazines. It looked as if it hadn’t been used in years.

  “Nope.” Mitch heaved a sigh. “My wife died years ago and we never did have any kids.” Pulling out a handkerchief, he wiped his face before taking his own seat and focusing his attention on Annie. “How have you been?”

  Annie forced a strained smile to her lips. “Surviving.”

  “I tried to find you after . . . after your father died, but no one could tell me where they took you.”

  “My therapist thought a clean break from my past would be for the best.”

  Mitch muttered a curse beneath his breath. “I don’t have much use for therapists.”

  Rafe leaned forward. “Why did you want to see her?”

  Turning his head, Mitch studied him with a considering gaze. “She your gal?”