The Deadly Series Boxed Set

by Jaycee Clark

  My choices to run when life suddenly was too real, that will be on my tombstone someday: Here lies a woman who was afraid.

  And after moving here and learning about the baby . . . even more real. Until I ran, Quin and I just sort of floated. He came down every weekend and it worked without being too difficult. Or I think it did. Maybe I’m wrong. I probably am. I know he wanted more. He wanted an us, in the same city, same bed, with the same names on stuff. Or at least the same last name. I ran and created more problems by running.

  More problems than I understand. And I don’t even know when it all happened. I was teaching yoga. These people in Taos are serious about yoga. Not the regulars or rich housewives I’m used to or the health nuts . . . but it’s just different here. The new job at the Nursery of Dreams seemed perfect too.

  I missed Quinlan.

  And then . . .

  The two pink lines.

  Several of them.

  And the class at the Nursery and talking to the doctors there and the feds. It’s all such a blur tonight. But I agreed to help them. My choice. Not to contact anyone, except for those letters to Quinlan that Agent Jareaux said he’d take care of.

  Why didn’t Quinlan write me back? Why didn’t I hear from him. I know, I know. What was I really thinking? Some great guy married me. I ran. Secret baby. Please, there were shelves of books with this plotline.

  He knows I’m in Taos, and I know he’s in D.C.

  Then again, maybe he’s pissed still because I left. But we talked so much before. Talked and talked and talked and I just knew that things this time were different.

  And it would have been.

  A voodoo priestess once told me I was my own worst enemy.

  I see now what she meant.

  I don’t know myself, do I? I wouldn’t be here if I did. If I don’t know myself, how can I help myself, let alone anyone else.

  Let alone my own child?

  Her thoughts went from cohesive and flowing to jagged and skipped.

  He took a deep breath and rolled his neck. Her worries that these bastards fed her, that he wouldn’t want the baby, wouldn’t want someone like her. That if he did want the baby, he and his family could hire better lawyers and take the baby. He read through arguments with herself that he would never do that, that she knew him. She wrote how she could understand if his family did take that course, if she had to battle them, how they would break her in a month. His chest felt tight seeing how she went from vivacious and his Ella to someone full of doubts and fears. He saw how through the weeks they tried to wear her down, tried to get the child legally through fear and coercion.

  I’m worried.

  They’re still talking to me about adopting, but I don’t want to give her up. She’s MINE!

  MINE!

  I’m not giving her up. Even Lisa hinted at it. My doctor asked me if I was sure I wanted to keep the baby. It feels like they are all against me. Am I going crazy? It feels like I am.

  I don’t know who to talk to about things anymore. I feel like I’m being watched. I told Jareaux this, but he told me not to worry, they’d look into it. He’s not the one with a child kicking him awake from the inside, is he? He said I worried too much and if I focused more on evidence than on myself this would be over.

  Is he right?

  I don’t know anything anymore.

  Or I feel like I don’t.

  I need help, but I don’t know who to trust. I don’t know if I can trust Jareaux or not. I wish Quinlan had answered my letters. Why didn’t he answer them? Maybe Jareaux never gave him my letters.

  I don’t want to do this anymore.

  The last entry. He rubbed his eyes and was glad it was done. He’d save a copy of the flash drive to the PC, get another one and give a copy to the cops, feds, whoever.

  I’m in over my head.

  I’m scared . . . I’m scared that they will just . . .

  What if they just take her? What if they just take my baby?

  I know that sounds crazy. I even mentioned it to my therapist at the Retreat. She said I needed to reevaluate the root of my fears. That I really feared Quinlan and his family taking her away and I was transferring my fears into a scenario that I would rather deal with. Well, that sounds good. And maybe Quinlan would take her away, but these people . . .

  I know Quin. I know what he’d want. He wanted me. He wanted an us to make us work and if he’s with the snooty Brit chick, then I have no one to blame but myself.

  Snooty Brit chick? He smiled. Rori answering his phone. He glanced over to his sleeping wife. Then he forced himself to follow her now convoluted entry.

  The other girl, the one that was staying at the Nursery and working in the kitchens—Amber—I haven’t seen her in a couple of days. No one knows where she is.

  She wanted to keep her baby. Amber had already signed papers though. She didn’t know what to do. I told her to get a lawyer. People change their minds all the time. People change their minds about keeping kids. Sometimes they give them away, sometimes they give them back.

  Sometimes they hold on to their kids until someone has to pry them away.

  I’m so scared and nothing makes sense anymore.

  Girls missing, but they aren’t anyone who can be traced or missed. No family. It’s the ones I know that worry me, the ones who talked to me, who worried about exercise and what they ate, who had no one else to turn to. They trusted me to help them.

  Another girl who gave up her son told me she didn’t want to talk to me after it was all over.

  The other two?

  Well, one went into labor and was yelling through it that she wanted to keep her son. I caught the look one of the nurses passed to another. Then something went wrong and they took her away. I haven’t seen her since. I haven’t seen the baby.

  I’ve asked. Demanded to know. But I get the line that her medical information is protected and private and I’m not on her list of people to tell. I tried to find out, I snuck into Dr. Radcliffe’s office, but Lisa saw me. She covered for me when Sally showed up as well. I looked through his files, trying to find. There was one file I just caught a glimpse of before I heard someone coming . . . a black file that only said “Others” on it.

  Other whats?

  Girls here, then suddenly not. Why? Because they left, just up and left without saying good-bye to friends, to people who were going through a life-changing experience with them?

  Not a lot. Most were said to have changed their minds. They left the Retreat to go home, or because of another job. And it’s girls who were changing their minds anyway, or claiming to. Girls and women I knew.

  I have to get out of here. Place is messing with my head. I can’t find level ground. I so want to talk to Quinlan, want him to hold me and he won’t. He’ll be so angry. I know this. I know. I also know I need to get away. Get away from the Nursery and my friends here. From the girls before any more are hurt.

  I just want Quinlan. I just want Quinlan. He can help, I know it.

  I want us in the house in the Quarter. But I already sold it.

  I don’t know what to do.

  I wish I knew what to do.

  Quinlan stared at those words and wished he did as well. Finally he copied the files, saved them to Aiden’s laptop, zipped and emailed copies to Ian and himself. Sighing, he stood and stared out the hospital window. It was quiet this evening. They still hadn’t heard from Ian and he was trying not to pick up the damned phone and call his brother.

  Why didn’t they know anything yet? Why was it he was always left waiting.

  Sunday night. He cursed and remembered what he’d forgotten. He pulled his phone from his pocket and made a call to the shelter in D.C. and made arrangements for the rest of the week for someone to cover his art therapy class with the kids.

  He was tired. Still so pissed she hadn’t told him the minute she knew; even as he knew why she hadn’t, her fears, worries, the investigation. And it didn’t matter.

  “I’m sorry
,” whispered behind him.

  He didn’t turn. “So am I.”

  For a minute nothing moved. He heard someone laugh out in the hallway and he ignored it.

  Who the hell wanted to laugh?

  His daughter was missing. A daughter he didn’t even know existed until two days ago, or was it three? He rubbed a hand over his face.

  He heard the rustle of the bedding and turned to help her. She waved him off, but he ignored her and helped as she climbed out of the bed. She still had an IV in her arm and rolled the stand over beside him. She looked out at the city lights; he watched her.

  She was different.

  But then why wouldn’t she be?

  There were shadows beneath her sunken eyes. Her skin was still pale, not golden like he remembered. He still couldn’t get over how her hair, darker and longer, was just . . . wrong. He missed the spark, the flash of blue or purple or whatever that she wore in her hair, or all of her hair.

  The tattoo was still on her wrist. He’d seen it when the nurse had changed the bandages. Her left hand was devoid of the band he knew she’d kept.

  He rubbed his finger over her ring finger without realizing it.

  “I wore it around my neck, but I think they took it. Or I lost it at the end. I don’t know. I don’t remember it all,” she said, not looking at him.

  She’d kept it. “You wore it?”

  She turned to him then. “Yes, every day. Only when I was asked to help . . .” She stopped. “Anyway, I kept it on a chain, and—”

  He put his finger against her lips and pulled a chain from beneath his shirt. His hung on it, as it had since he’d returned the first time from Vegas.

  Her eyes narrowed. “You too?” She shook her head. “I’ve been so, so stupid. Oh God, Quin, what have I done? You came back for me, you did and I didn’t . . . I didn’t . . . I thought you’d . . .” She started crying and he sighed, reaching for her, pulling her close.

  For a minute, she just cried against his shoulder, against his chest. Her arms came up and he felt the IV pull tight across his chest.

  He pulled back and sat in the chair, settling her gently onto his lap. “It’s all going to be all right, Ella. You’re here now. I’m here now. Granted, you should have told me, but then again, I shouldn’t have given up. None of my brothers would have.”

  “You’re not your brothers,” she muttered. “You’re you.”

  “And look where that’s got us.”

  She pushed back and stared at him. “I got us here more than you.”

  “Let’s just settle on we both fucked up,” he said. Then he kissed the top of her head. “We can fix it, though.”

  For a moment, she didn’t say anything, then, “If it had been your brothers I wouldn’t be married.”

  He scoffed. “That’s the truth. None of them would have gone for the blue hair, or Elvis.”

  “Neither would we—Elvis, that is—had we been sober.”

  Again they lapsed into silence. God it felt good to have her in his arms, even as angry as he was, it felt right. Angry at her, himself, the world, he didn’t know, and it didn’t matter.

  “I’m sorry. I should have ignored my pride, my fear, and jumped on the plane with you, then none of this would be . . .” She shook and he tightened his arms. “I don’t understand anything anymore. You. Me. Us. They said they’d keep me safe. What have they done to her? Who has our baby? Quin?” She cried again. “I want my baby. I just want my baby.”

  “I know. I know. We’ll find her. We will.”

  “I want out of here. I can’t stay in here. I want to help. I have to help. We have to find her, we have to . . . Where’s Jareaux? I’ll even talk to him again.”

  “I’ve no idea where the man is,” he said, angry all over again at the fact the idiot had put Quin’s family in such danger.

  “Ella, shhh. Shhh. Baby. We’ll get through this,” he said against her hair.

  “I want out of here. I want out of here, Quin. Please . . .” She looked at him, her eyes watery and red, tears tracked down her face. “Please.” Her voice was still broken and her pleas, shattered whispers.

  He couldn’t deny her.

  “In the morning, I’ll see what we need to do to get you out of here.”

  She sighed against him.

  “I’ll get you out of here on one condition, well, two actually.”

  She didn’t say a word, only nodded.

  “The doctor has to say it’s okay. I’m not going to put you at risk.” He swallowed. “You almost . . .” He bit down. “They almost . . .” He remembered her so pale and lifeless, her lips without color. He’d spoken to the patrolman who had found her. “You could have died, Ella.”

  Her eyes held his, and though he tried to read them, there was. . . nothing. A flicker, but that was it. Her bandage caressed his neck just before she cupped her palm around his jaw. “But I didn’t. I don’t know why, I thought I would, you know.”

  He shook his head. He couldn’t . . . Not right now . . . He just couldn’t hear it.

  He swallowed and tightened his hold. “I won’t put you at risk, so first he has to agree. If he says tomorrow—or later today, as it’s now after midnight, then fine. If he says Tuesday, then Tuesday it’ll be. And then you have to come back for whatever appointments they think you need.”

  She nodded. “Okay, Quinlan.”

  He blew out a breath and tucked her close again. “You should be in bed.”

  She shook her head and settled closer against him. “I’m safe right here. This is the safest place in the whole world, I just wish I’d realized that sooner,” she whispered.

  “Hell, honey, I do, too.” He kissed the top of her head again and just held her. They’d get through his. They would. Somehow. Some way, they’d get through this.

  Chapter 28

  Albuquerque, Monday afternoon

  Quinlan stopped, frozen in the doorway as all the air sucked from his lungs and his blood iced.

  The room was shadowed in the fading light.

  He took a deep breath, or tried to, and smelled something sour, decaying. Crime scene tape had been across the front and back door, not that his brother had cared. Ian had cut the tape and opened the door as if they owned the place.

  The cops had informed them that the house in Albuquerque where Ella had been kept had been processed. Ian found the address, so here they were. Quin knew that whether the cops had cleared it or not, they’d still be here. Ian had been busy on the computer and phone all day. Quinlan had overheard him talking to a Mr. DeSaro about recommendations for the Nursery.

  Quinlan knew of a DeSaro family; he’d asked Ian after the phone call, but Ian only told him that he was working an angle and when he knew something for certain, Quin would be the first to know.

  Ella was still in the hospital, much to her annoyance. He hadn’t wanted to leave her, but he wanted to see this, to do something. To help find his daughter. Rori said she’d help Ella if needed. Aiden and Brasher were there, as well as Brody. He still didn’t like to be away from her for too long, but he had to come here. The Richardsons were still there as well.

  Ian had pulled him aside and told him about the house. The house where she’d been held. He knew, from what they’d told him, from the fact his daughter was missing, that the baby wasn’t here. He’d known Ella had been held against her will somewhere, and from what she remembered, vague and fragmented as it was, he knew she’d been bound. Damned if her wrists didn’t still have the bandages on them.

  But knowing all those things and standing here . . .

  There were bolts on the bed, eyebolts screwed into the sides of the wooden bedrails of the small twin bed.

  He stared at those eyebolts, and from here saw the rust on them. Blood. Her blood stained the chrome and even the wood. The sheets were gone, but the bloodstained mattress was still there.

  He bit down, felt the muscle bunch in his jaw.

  “I told you, you didn’t have to come. I told you I could
check this out,” Ian said softly from across the room.

  Quinlan speared him with a look. He had no idea what his brother saw, but Ian held up his hands. “I get it. I’m not the enemy.”

  He took another deep breath. The room was small and dank, the window shuttered, bolted in place. Someone had cut the bolts because one of the shutters hung open, allowing the fading light into the room.

  Soundproofing foam covered the walls.

  “No one could hear her,” he said, looking at the patchwork of different-colored impressioned foam.

  He all but heard the giant clock slowly ticking away empty minutes. Minutes where he felt he wasn’t any closer to finding his daughter than he’d been when he learned she was missing.

  The room was sparse. A tray with food remnants sat in the corner of the dresser, spoiling. Looked like part of a sandwich. The top of the dresser was covered in a fine black film. He trailed his fingers through it and rubbed them together.

  “They were dusting for prints.”

  Now that he’d thought of it, he’d seen the dust in the other part of the house, on their way back here. He’d just thought the house needing cleaning.

  He walked to the window and looked out, pushing the shutter back with his cane. “What do you hope to find?”

  “Who the hell kept her here.”

  Quinlan wanted that as well. “And then?”

  Ian stopped and caught his gaze. “Then I’ll question them.”

  He only nodded. “Let me know what I can do to help.”

  Ian sighed. “Then or now?”

  “Both. Either.”

  Ian held his gaze for a long moment before nodding once. “Fine. For now, look around and see if you notice anything.”

  “Other than the bloodstains?” he mumbled, turning back around.

  “Yes. Other than the bloodstains. I seriously doubt we will find anything, especially since the cops were already through here. This was a drop house, for want of a better term. Merchandise was dropped here,” Ian said.

  His words grated along Quinlan’s nerves. He listened.

  “Or in Ella’s and the baby’s case, merchandise was held here and then taken—”