Kill Without Mercy

by Alexandra Ivy

  She gave a disbelieving shake of her head. “That’s not going to stop him.”

  He stilled, a scary-ass expression twisting his features. “Then I’ll make him stop.”

  A chill inched down her spine.

  Well, hell.

  Her only thought had been to try and urge Martin to leave Newton. But dealing with her brother was like walking through a minefield.

  Each time she thought she had found a way to coax him into doing what she wanted, he went off the rails into crazy.

  And this time, it was even worse.

  She’d deliberately encouraged her brother to think of Rafe and his friends as enemies who needed to be eliminated.

  “No,” she rasped. “You’re right. I can send him a note. Once he’s convinced I’m okay he’ll forget about me.”

  Instantly his expression softened. “Don’t worry, Annabelle,” he murmured. “It’ll only be a few more days.”

  Annie nodded, accepting that she had to try a new strategy.

  She wouldn’t dangle Rafe as a target, not even to save a helpless woman.

  She just wouldn’t.

  But there were others she was willing to throw under the bus, she wryly acknowledged. Starting with the prick of a sheriff.

  “What about the cops?” she asked.

  Impatience rippled over her brother’s face. “What about them?”

  “They’re looking for you.”

  He made a sound of disgust. “They’re idiots.”

  Annie grimaced.

  Hard to argue with that.

  If the other police even remotely resembled Graham Brock, then they’d be lucky to find their way out of the parking lot, let alone track down a serial killer.

  “Maybe,” she conceded, holding his gaze. “But they’re persistent. They won’t stop until they’ve tracked you down.”

  “Let them look,” he easily countered, far less concerned with being caught by the law than he had been by Rafe. “I’m too clever to be found.”

  She gave it one last try.

  “You nearly got caught the last time.”

  His brow furrowed at the unwelcome reminder.

  “I was sloppy,” he groused. “And it wasn’t the cops who stopped me.”

  Annie froze, her urgent need to leave overshadowed by an unexpected flare of curiosity.

  For fifteen years she’d been tormented by the mystery of what had happened the day she’d ended up tied and gagged in the bomb shelter.

  She suddenly realized that she had to know the truth.

  No matter how painful it might be.

  “Then who was it?”

  “Father.”

  Annie grimaced. Since discovering that Martin was actually the Newton Slayer she’d futilely hoped their dad had never realized his only son was the one responsible for killing all those women.

  It was bad enough to think that her father had been senselessly murdered. She didn’t want to think that he’d gone to his grave blaming himself for Martin’s killing spree.

  “How did he find you?” she asked.

  “I was searching for Mother.” Martin moved to the fridge to pull out a bottle of water, thankfully missing Annie’s shudder. His casual attitude toward stalking his victims was . . . unnerving. “And when I returned to the farm I realized I hadn’t sealed the door properly.”

  Annie hurriedly smoothed her expression as he turned back. It was a waste of breath to try and convince her brother that their mother wasn’t returning from the grave.

  She suspected only professional help, along with a large dose of pharmaceuticals, was going to ease his demons.

  “The door that led to the bomb shelter?” she asked.

  “Yeah.” He took a deep drink of water before rubbing the chilled bottle over his face, as if it was ninety degrees in the basement instead of barely above freezing. “When I came into the garage I could hear Father calling the cops on his cell phone.”

  “He’d seen the women?”

  Martin shook his head. “Not yet, but he was telling them there was a bad smell that he wanted investigated.” His brow furrowed. “I think he already suspected what was down there. And that I might be involved.”

  Annie gave a slow nod. At least her father had been spared the sight of the murdered females. “What did you do?”

  “At first I tried to convince him of the truth.” Martin’s eyes were unfocused as he became lost in the past. “I thought that once he accepted that I was protecting you, then we could work together.”

  “He didn’t agree?”

  “He pretended he believed me.” Martin gave a sharp, humorless laugh. “He even said he would help me, but I knew he was lying.”

  Annie wondered how her brother had been so perceptive.

  Their father had lied to her for years and she’d never suspected that he might be anything but truthful.

  Of course, she’d just been a child, she reminded herself.

  All children believed their parents.

  “I’m sure he only wanted what was best for you,” she murmured.

  “That wasn’t it,” Martin argued. “He just didn’t want to share you with me.”

  Annie met his angry gaze. “I’m sure he was worried,” she conceded.

  Martin wasn’t appeased. “He intended to hand me over to the cops.” He abruptly threw the half-empty bottle of water across the basement. “His own son. It was just like the first time I protected you from Mother.”

  She instinctively pressed against the cement floor. Martin might claim that he wanted to protect her, but his emotions were too volatile to predict.

  He could kill her before he realized what he was doing.

  “He didn’t let them put you in jail,” Annie reminded him in gentle tones.

  “That wasn’t Father’s decision. It was Grandmother,” he argued, unaware that he’d just shaken the very foundation of Annie’s world. Again. “I heard her telling the cops that she’d called the governor and if they tried to arrest me they’d lose their jobs. She said I was going to the Greenwood Estates, and Father did nothing to stop her.”

  “Grandmother?” Annie struggled to wrap her brain around the word. “We have a grandmother who’s still alive?”

  Martin lifted a brow in surprise, seemingly baffled by her question. “You haven’t met her?”

  “I . . .” Annie paused to gather her scattered thoughts. Her father had told her that her grandparents had all passed away before she was born. Of course she’d believed him. Why wouldn’t she? And even after learning that he’d lied about virtually everything in her past, she still hadn’t considered the possibility that she had other family out there. “No.”

  “What about Grandfather?” Martin asked.

  There was a grandfather, too?

  God almighty.

  “No.”

  Martin grimaced, not bothering to hide his blatant disdain for their elderly relatives. “Lucky you.”

  “Grandparents,” she breathed, the word unfamiliar on her tongue.

  For a golden moment, all she could think about was the fact that she had a family beyond her deeply disturbed brother. And not just distant cousins or weird uncles.

  No, this was far, far better.

  In her mind, grandparents meant sleepovers with hot chocolate and Sunday dinners and birthday cards with money tucked inside.

  It actually took a while to recall that none of those things had happened.

  In fact, they’d been complete no-shows when she’d needed them the most.

  Where had they been when she was burying her father? Or when she’d been locked in a mental institution?

  Even if they were too old, or in too poor health to take in a traumatized child, they should at least have rushed to Newton to stand at her side.

  Unaware of how deeply she’d become lost in her thoughts, Annie nearly jumped out of her skin when Martin brushed his fingers down her cheek.

  “Annie?” he murmured in worried tones.

  “
Sorry,” she said in hoarse tones, grimly acknowledging she would have to deal with this latest betrayal when she wasn’t handcuffed in a basement with her crazy brother. “Hard to believe my family could get any worse.”

  He straightened, something that might have been pity darkening his eyes. “They don’t love you, but I do,” he assured her in gentle tones.

  “I know that, Marty,” she said, returning to the original point of the conversation. Later she could deal with missing grandparents. Or better yet, she could forget they even existed. Clearly they weren’t interested in her. Why waste a minute thinking about them? “What happened with Father?”

  Martin stepped back, his expression defensive. Almost as if he was afraid she was going to be angry with him.

  “I didn’t want to hurt him. I swear I didn’t,” he said. “He may have been a shitty father, but he didn’t deserve to die.”

  Annie believed him. “You were the one who knocked him out,” she said.

  “Yes.” He kept his gaze lowered. “I just needed to keep him out of the way until you got home from school and we could find a new place to hide.”

  A shiver shook her body.

  He’d been there when she’d gotten home that day?

  “You waited for me?”

  “Of course.” His head snapped up as he studied her in puzzlement. “You don’t think I would leave you there, do you?”

  “You tied me up?”

  “No,” he denied in horrified tones. Which was a little ridiculous considering he currently had her handcuffed. “I was waiting in the house, but then the car pulled into the driveway and I had to hide.”

  Good Lord, how many people had been at the house that day?

  And why couldn’t she remember?

  She gave a confused shake of her head.

  “Was I there?”

  “Not yet,” Martin said. “The bus hadn’t arrived.”

  She watched as her brother paced to the center of the floor, his fingers drumming against the side of his leg.

  “What happened?”

  “A man got out of the car and went into the garage.”

  “What man?”

  Martin shrugged. “He was wearing a uniform.”

  She frowned. Her father didn’t have any friends who wore uniforms. Although she supposed one of his old military buddies might have stopped by.

  Then she abruptly remembered Martin’s earlier words.

  Her father had called 9-1-1.

  “Was it a cop?”

  “He was an interfering bastard,” Martin muttered. “He went down to my private hideout.”

  “Then what?” she prompted.

  “Then he went back to his car.”

  Yeah. Annie had seen the pictures of the bodies piled in the shelter.

  If she’d been the cop, she would have been fleeing in horror.

  “Did he leave?” she asked.

  “No.” Martin paused, and she sensed that this was the first time in fifteen years he was allowing himself to recall the events of the day. “He pulled a woman out of the car and took her into the garage.”

  Annie frowned in confusion. “A woman? You mean a female cop?”

  Martin shook his head. “No. I think she was his wife.” His hand touched his stomach. “She was fat, like she was pregnant.”

  Annie shook her head. Could her brother have imagined the cop and his pregnant wife?

  He was delusional, after all.

  She studied his tense profile as he turned to pace back toward her cot, his movements jerky.

  “Why would he take his wife into the garage?”

  “I don’t know.” He wrinkled his nose. “She didn’t seem very happy. She was screaming nasty words and trying to hit him.”

  “Did you follow them?”

  “No, I left the house and hid myself across the road,” he admitted. “I couldn’t let the man see me.”

  The throbbing behind Annie’s right eye picked up speed. Her brother had to be mistaken. No man would drag his pregnant wife into the lair of a serial killer.

  “Did they go into the shelter?”

  “Yes.”

  “And then?”

  “Then she stopped screaming,” Martin said with a stark simplicity.

  Annie started to give a disbelieving shake of her head only to feel her muscles clench in shock as she was struck by a disturbing, utterly gruesome suspicion.

  The last Slayer victim was a pregnant woman, wasn’t she?

  “Oh my God.” She squeezed her eyes shut before forcing them back open to meet her brother’s steady gaze. “Martin, do you remember how many women . . .” She faltered, not entirely sure how to say the words. “That you had to get rid of to protect me the first time you came to Newton?”

  He didn’t hesitate. “Six.”

  Her heart stopped beating. There were seven victims.

  “Not seven?” she pressed. “You’re certain.”

  His brows snapped together. “It was six.”

  She instantly changed tactics. She wouldn’t get any answers if she pushed her brother too hard.

  It was the one thing she’d learned about him. He was like an adolescent boy who shut down the second he felt threatened.

  “What happened next?” she instead demanded.

  Again he hesitated, trying to dredge up the memories he’d kept buried for over a decade.

  “The bus came,” he finally burst out, his hands clenching at his sides. “But before I could get to you, the man sneaked into the garage. He kept watching the house, and when you came out the back of the house he grabbed you before you could see him.” His face twisted with a soul-deep regret. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t stop him.”

  Annie lifted her free hand to press against her pounding head.

  She’d gone out the rear of the house?

  Yes. She had a fuzzy memory of walking down the back stairs. She’d been hoping to find her father in the barn.

  And then darkness . . .

  “He knocked me out?” she muttered.

  “He must have,” Martin reluctantly conceded, not wanting to admit he’d done nothing to help her. In his mind he was her most loyal guardian. “Then he carried you into the bomb shelter. I was trying to decide how to get you out when another car arrived and I had to leave.”

  She leaned her head back, her stomach churning with the suspicion that there was a man out there capable of murdering his pregnant wife and then blaming her father.

  “He killed her, didn’t he?” she whispered her dark thoughts aloud.

  “Who?” Martin demanded in confusion.

  “The cop who brought his wife into the shelter.”

  “Yes,” a male voice drawled from the steps leading to the upper floor. “I’m afraid he did.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Rafe was certain he’d never been more miserable.

  Not even when he’d been a prisoner in Afghanistan.

  His ribs ached, his head ached, and every step felt like someone was shoving a hot poker up his spine. But it was the gnawing fear twisting his gut and squeezing his lungs that transformed discomfort to sheer hell.

  After speaking with Max, Rafe and Hauk had driven straight to the Gilbert farm, parking behind an abandoned shed before heading toward the house.

  There was no way in hell he was waiting for the cops to show up.

  If the sheriff wanted to shoot him, fine. As long as Annie was safe.

  But after spending the past quarter of an hour doing a thorough sweep of the area, he’d grudgingly returned to Hauk’s SUV. From what he’d been able to discover there was nothing to indicate Emerson was using the place as his temporary home. Or even his dump spot.

  Everything was recently painted, the hinges oiled, and the various farm implements carefully stored in the barns.

  Tough to believe the owner would overlook a stranger creeping around his property.

  “Well?” Hauk demanded as he stepped around the SUV, his gaze skimming their surrounding
s for any hint of danger.

  Rafe covertly leaned against the bumper of the vehicle. He had no intention of revealing how close he was to complete collapse. “Nothing in the shed,” he growled, his words vibrating with impatience.

  Hauk grimaced. “There’s nothing in the silo.”

  “Dammit.” Rafe scrubbed a weary hand over his face. “What are we missing?”

  Hauk pulled his phone out of his pocket, studying the screen with a frown. “Teagan sent me the specs on the property,” he said, scrolling through the files. “There’s no basement and no bomb shelter listed in the tax records.”

  “What about a cellar?”

  “Hard to say.” Hauk lifted his head with a twist of his lips. “Outside the city limits you don’t need a permit to build or dig on your own property. But I don’t see any electrical wires that lead away from the house.”

  “Shit.”

  Frustration exploded through him and Rafe closed his eyes, forcing himself to take a deep breath.

  The only way to rescue Annie was to keep his emotions tightly leashed.

  His meltdown would come later.

  “Do you want me to speak with the owners?” Hauk at last broke the silence.

  Releasing his breath, Rafe opened his eyes, glancing toward the ranch-style house with painted green shutters and a ceramic goose on the porch dressed in a flower print dress.

  Why would a goose wear a dress?

  “It’s unlikely,” he pointed out the obvious. “But I suppose they could be involved.”

  “Wait,” Hauk muttered as there was a low buzz and he pressed the phone to his ear.

  “What is it?” Rafe demanded.

  “Lucas,” Hauk said, heading around the hood of the SUV to yank open the driver side door. “He spotted a black truck.”

  “Where?”

  “Two miles east of here.”

  Moving with much less grace, Rafe crawled into his seat and held on as Hauk did a U-turn and headed down the narrow road at a speed that sprayed gravel like confetti.

  He didn’t slow until they caught sight of the helicopter hovering over a large oak tree. Rafe’s heart kicked against his ribs as he caught sight of the truck parked in the shadows.

  Pulling next to the ditch, Hauk glanced toward Rafe.