by Maya Banks
ONE
ELIZA came awake with none of her usual crispness and ready-to-take-on-the-world attitude. She felt as though she’d been hit by a truck and her first instinct was to roll over and pull the covers over her head and sleep for several more hours. Even as she knew she wouldn’t do any such thing, it was still a nice thought. Still, she thought she could give herself another five minutes before stumbling out of bed and into the shower.
For once, things were slow at Devereaux Security Services after a veritable shit storm of activity over the last several months. She only hoped something popped up when she went into the office today, otherwise it was going to be another boring-ass day at work.
Just as she roused herself from her laziness and threw her legs over the side of the bed to stand, the landline on her nightstand rang. She glanced down at it, frowning. If it was Dane or anyone else from DSS, surely they’d call her cell. A quick look told her that her cell phone was on the nightstand charging and a glance at it also told her she hadn’t missed any calls. If this was a telemarketer calling her at oh-dark-thirty so help her she was going to hunt them down and shove her foot as far up their ass as she could.
If it weren’t for the fact that it could be one of her coworkers she would have simply ignored the ringing all together. With a sigh, she yanked up the phone and barked an unwelcome hello into the receiver.
There was a short pause and then the clearing of a throat. “Miss Caldwell? Melissa Caldwell?”
Eliza froze, her blood turning to ice in her veins. She hadn’t heard that name in ten years. Hadn’t been that person in ten years. And in two seconds flat, her past had slammed into her present like a speeding train.
“What do you want?” she asked in a dull voice.
“This is Clyde Barksdale, district attorney for Keerney County, Oregon.”
She knew damn well who Clyde Barksdale was. Like she’d forget that it was him she’d worked with to put Thomas Harrington away?
“I take it this isn’t a social call,” she said acidly.
“You’d be correct.” The DA emitted an exhausted sounding sigh. “Look, there’s no easy way to say this but Thomas Harrington won an appeal to overturn his conviction and he’ll be set free in three weeks’ time.”
Eliza’s knees folded and she landed with a hard bounce on the bed. She was utterly numb with shock, and she shook her head in an effort to dispel the fog and confusion surrounding her. Was this some fucked-up dream—nightmare—she was trapped in?
“What?” she whispered in horror. “What the fuck? What do you mean his conviction was overturned? Is this some kind of twisted joke?”
“He must have gotten to one of the cops who worked his case,” the DA said in a furious voice. “It’s the only explanation. The cop admitted under oath to tampering with evidence in order to make the case against Harrington a slam dunk. As if we goddamn needed the evidence when we had your testimony. But with his admission, and the fact that you were painted as a scorned child, angry and humiliated by the rejection of an older man, the court had no choice but to exonerate him.”
Eliza was speechless. She was absolutely paralyzed and awash with a multitude of differing emotions. Sweat beaded her forehead and nausea swirled in her gut. She was going to be sick. This couldn’t be happening. They couldn’t let such a dangerous sociopathic monster free! Ever!
“When?” she managed to croak out.
Oh dear God, she was going to be sick. She clamped a hand over her mouth and sucked in mouthfuls of air in a desperate effort not to heave up the contents of her stomach.
“Three weeks,” the DA said grimly. “I’ve thrown everything at the courts that I can. I’ve tried everything in my power to pull together enough evidence to nail him with something—anything—that would prevent him walking out of prison a free man and my hands are goddamn tied! He can’t be tried for murder again and we can’t hope to press rape charges because we don’t have any viable evidence. It would be your word against his. All that can be done at this point is for one of his victims, the only surviving victim—you—to file a civil suit and that does jack.”
“Oh dear God,” Eliza breathed, her voice muffled by the hand still held tightly over her mouth. “He’ll kill again. He thinks he’s invincible, that he’s God, and him beating the system just proves his superiority in his mind.”
“He’ll want revenge, Miss Caldwell,” the DA said quietly. “He’ll come after you. I had to call and warn you.”
“I hope to hell he does,” she said savagely.
But even as she spoke, she shook her head, her thoughts in chaos as she attempted to sort through her horror. No. Fuck that. To hell with running, hiding, all the things Thomas would expect her to do. He’d expect to find that same sixteen-year-old timid girl so desperate for love and acceptance.
No, she wasn’t running. She would go after him. She would make it damn easy for him to find her because she would be waiting when he was released in prison. And then she’d take him down and send him to hell where he belonged.
Alarm sounded in the DA’s voice. “Miss Caldwell, don’t do anything you’ll regret. I called you because you had the right to know and so you could take protective measures and heed caution.”
“I can assure you, Mr. Barksdale, my only regret is that I didn’t take him out the first time,” she said in an ice-cold tone. Steely determination gripped her. She was infused with purpose. A goal. One she would not fail in.
As she quietly disconnected the call, her nostrils flared and she embraced the frigid chill that had invaded her limbs the second the DA had announced the reason for his call. She had to lock down her rioting emotions or she’d go insane with grief—and guilt.
Her eyes closed and her head lowered, so much anguish threatening to overwhelm her. She shook her head vehemently, refusing to give in to despair. The justice system had utterly failed Thomas Harrington’s victims. It had failed her.
No one knew Thomas like she did. No one knew of his enormous power and how so very easily he could enthrall his victims. There was nothing left but for her to seek justice and to protect the only people in the world who mattered to her. The only people she had allowed herself to get close to in the ten years since she’d put the man she’d loved with all the innocence of a teenaged girl away for what she thought had been for good.
Only now he would be set free, and it was up to her to ensure that he would claim no further victims. Even if it meant being consigned to hell right along with him.
She should have killed him, but she’d naïvely believed in the system and that he would pay for his crimes. Now, she knew better, and unless she stopped him, he’d kill and keep killing.
TWO
“ALL set?” Wade Sterling asked his good friend, perhaps his only friend, Anna-Grace Covington.
Wade the quintessential lone wolf. He shunned personal relationships of any kind and he had little time for friends. Having a friend meant a level of trust he simply wasn’t able to give another person. Blind faith wasn’t what had made him the ruthless, successful businessman he’d become.
But his own self-imposed rules had simply disappeared when he’d met Anna-Grace. True, at first, he’d been interested in her on a more personal level, but he’d quickly discovered that the vulnerable, fragile woman had suffered unimaginable tragedy and a relationship—any kind of romantic or sexual relationship—with a man was the last thing she needed or wanted.
As a result, surprised by the true affection he’d felt for her, they’d instead become close friends, and he had become her only confidant.
Anna-Grace, or Gracie as most people called her, though Wade had always known—and addressed—her by her full name until recent months, stared anxiously at the array of paintings that were dis
played to their best advantage.
Wade slipped an arm around her shoulders and gave her a reassuring squeeze. “Everyone is going to love you.” Then, to distract her from her panic, he asked, “Did Cheryl arrange everything to your liking?”
Gracie nodded though she still pensively studied her artwork and she looked very much like she wanted to vomit. Wade sighed. He turned to Gracie and collected her hands in his.
“Honey, do you think I would display just anyone in my gallery? I know you think the studio is a side interest of mine that I pay little or no attention to, but I have a great deal of time and money invested in this place and before you suggest that our friendship is why I’m holding an exhibition for you, may I remind you that we only became friends because of your art? I was interested in your work and could see the potential in you as an artist before I knew anything about you. Our friendship was the result of your talent, and furthermore, friend or not, and you of all people should know how ruthless I am when it comes to business, I wouldn’t sink this kind of capital into launching you if I wasn’t one hundred percent certain that I was making a sound investment.”
True, Joie de Vivre was one of many things Wade dabbled in. One of his many legitimate business interests. But he hadn’t lied. He did enjoy art. Good art. And Gracie was a very talented artist.
The two had met when he’d seen a sample of her work when she had come in, looking for the world like someone who had lost her way a long time before. Perhaps he’d seen a kindred spirit. They’d both known pain and disillusionment. Gracie’s story, however, was worse than most.
He’d sought to protect her when the source of her anguish had stormed back into her life, but over time, he’d come to realize that Zack Covington, her husband, had been just as betrayed as Gracie. Zack had mourned the loss of his childhood sweetheart for over a decade and had never stopped in his search for her. The two had overcome insurmountable odds and even their reunion was fraught with peril. But finally, the two were happily married, and the art exhibit that Wade had planned for Gracie before things had gone straight to hell was back on the schedule with just a few days left until the big day.
“It must seem like I’m fishing for compliments and want you to kiss my ass,” Gracie said with an unhappy sigh.
Wade put a finger over her lips to hush her before she could continue.
“You are one of the most humble, genuine people I know, Gracie. No one would ever think you were fishing for compliments. Now, if the paintings are arranged to your liking, perhaps you can give me a list of your guests for the big night? It will be open to the public, of course, but I am extending personal invitations to several potential buyers I believe will love your work, and anyone you’d like to attend, I will also send a personal invitation to.
“Cheryl has been working with a publicity firm and we have an extensive marketing campaign already launched, with newspaper, magazine, internet and television advertising. I dare say you’re going to make quite a splash in the art world, sweetheart.”
Her lips rounded to an O and her eyes widened as she stared back at Wade. Then her nose wrinkled, her expression becoming one of doubt and dismay.
“That sounds awfully expensive, Wade! I could never afford anything like that.”
He shook his head and sighed. “It’s called an investment, Gracie. One I think will net me rather large returns considering I’ll demand exclusivity on your work and will receive commission on every painting sold. See? If I were doing this out of friendship or charity, then I wouldn’t be such a bastard by demanding exclusivity and commission. The way I see it, you’re going to make us both a lot of money.”
She laughed, some of the tension easing from her rigid stance. “Maybe you should be my manager as well. Lord knows I don’t know a thing about arranging, well . . . anything. If I am even moderately successful I won’t have the first clue how to handle my own affairs.”
“Which is why you have me,” he said. “You paint. I do everything else. I think we will have a mutually beneficial arrangement. Now, all I need from you is your guest list and you’re done. I’ll expect you to go home and practice that gorgeous smile. You’re going to be an absolute hit, and I’ll get credit for having discovered the next big thing in modern art.”
She donned a pensive look. “I don’t have many. Everyone at DSS. Oh and especially Eliza.” Wade stiffened at both the mention of Eliza’s name and the instant anxiety that was reflected in Gracie’s features. “Do you think she’ll come, Wade? Everyone is so concerned about her. She needs to get out more.”
“What’s wrong with Eliza?” Wade demanded, though he disagreed that she needed to get out more. If anything the fool woman needed to stay in for once. Rest. Recover. Process the horrifying ordeal she’d experienced. None of which she’d done. Hadn’t had time to do because she was too busy saving the rest of the world. Everyone but her own pretty ass.
Gracie looked even unhappier. “No one knows but they’re all worried. She isn’t herself. Hasn’t been for some time but especially over the past several days. Everyone has been on tiptoe around her but you know Eliza. She’s very private and extremely tight-lipped.”
“What the hell do they expect?” Wade snapped in a louder voice than he’d intended.
Damn it. She didn’t even have to be anywhere in the vicinity and she still managed to rattle his iron composure. He needed to get laid. Work her out of his system and damn sure out of his every waking thought. The problem was, when he looked at other women with sex on his mind, all he saw was . . . her. And that pissed him off.
Gracie recoiled at the fury in his voice, her eyes widening in surprise at his vehemence.
Wade’s jaw ticked with irritation and he held up his hand, ticking off points one by one on his fingers.
“Let’s see. She gets kidnapped, tortured and fucking waterboarded. She came this close to dying,” he snapped, pausing to lift his hand and hold his thumb and first finger an inch apart before resuming once more. “And she doesn’t even take a goddamn day off to rest and recover before she’s back on the job and we go after the fuckers that hurt her, you and Ari. She damn near gets killed again, but I took the bullet meant for her. If I hadn’t been there? She’d be in the ground right now. Does she take any down time then? Fuck no. She’s back at work like nothing ever happened and now suddenly everyone is worried about her?”
He shook his head, his anger simmering like a cauldron.
“Is she sleeping at all?” he demanded.
Gracie blinked. “I-I don’t know, Wade. How would I?”
“You can read her damn mind, can’t you?”
Gracie flushed and Wade immediately felt guilty.
“I’m sorry, Gracie,” Wade said in a low voice. “That was uncalled for and a shitty thing to say. Damn it! That woman infuriates me.”
“I could read her mind if I ever saw her,” Gracie said quietly. “I think . . .”
“What?” Wade said sharply.
“I think she’s avoiding me for that very reason,” she said with a frown. “It’s like if I run into her or I go to the office to see Zack and she’s there, she immediately finds a reason to disappear. What else am I supposed to think?”
Wade swore viciously under his breath. Oh yeah. The little hellcat likely did have something—a lot—to hide. Like the fact that she was probably running on empty and barely existing on fumes. He wanted to track her down and beat some sense into her, and he would if it weren’t likely she’d kick his ass. Or at the very least rearrange his nuts for him. And well, he was finished with the little vixen. She was trouble with a capital T. If it were all the same, Wade was done with her and DSS and anything to do with them or their missions. He had enough on his plate without trailing after a brazen woman who was bent on saving the world while he had the unfortunate task of saving her.
Ungrateful heifer. She’d spit on him before ever acknowledging that he’d saved her snarly ass. Not even a thank-you. A fuck off, yeah. Thank you? No. Instead, all
the thanks he’d gotten was that he couldn’t look at another woman and see anyone but her. Couldn’t imagine having sex with anyone but a petite, snarly-mouthed, sassy, short-tempered blonde. He snorted, causing Gracie to look at him with an odd expression on her face.
“Eliza is a coward,” Wade said. “She won’t want to set foot in a place owned and run by me. After I took a bullet for her, she conveniently finds a reason to be elsewhere if I’m anywhere around.”
“Join the crowd,” Gracie said, a hint of hurt to her voice.
That settled it for Wade. Eliza could get over whatever was up her ass. No matter what the little spitfire was afraid Gracie would pick up from her thoughts, she would attend. He wasn’t going to let anything or anyone ruin Gracie’s night to shine.
“She’ll be here,” Wade said grimly. “If I have to haul her here over my shoulder, she’ll be here.”
Gracie immediately looked alarmed. “Uh, Wade, never mind. Really. Maybe we should just back off and give Eliza her space.”
“Don’t worry,” Wade said silkily. “I won’t really haul her to your exhibit over my shoulder.” Liar. “I just plan to have a perfectly civil conversation with Eliza when I personally issue the invitation to her.”
Or rather his ultimatum. For the first time when thinking of an impending confrontation with Eliza, he wasn’t seized by annoyance. No, he was looking forward to pissing her off. And the best part? He might annoy the ever-loving hell out of her—the feeling was entirely mutual—but she damn well knew he didn’t bluff. So she’d have no choice but to come of her own volition. Or suffer the indignity of being hauled to the event by Wade.
THREE
ELIZA knew she’d been scarce ever since she’d received the call from the DA. She also knew she’d been avoiding her coworkers, which wasn’t the smartest thing in the world if she didn’t want them thinking, or rather knowing, what she was planning, what she must do at all costs. But the simple truth was she couldn’t bear to face them. Shame was a living, breathing presence that encompassed her heart and soul.
The people she worked for epitomized all that was good. No, they didn’t always do everything by the book. They broke the rules, but in the end, justice was served, and wasn’t that all that mattered?
One of her bosses disarmed a monster who posed no further threat, but then that hadn’t been true either. The bastard’s psychic ability and the fact he’d created a link to both Caleb and his now wife, Ramie, meant that even behind bars, he could exert his will and control, making the couple’s lives hell. He’d already used Caleb to hurt Ramie in a horrifying manner. The memory still sickened Eliza every time it came to mind. The only way to sever that irrevocable tie binding them to him was for Caleb to kill him. And he had. By putting a bullet through his evil, twisted brain.
Oh, they’d wiped down the scene. Made damn sure it had appeared as though Caleb shot in self-defense, planting a gun with no other prints into a madman’s hand, finger on the trigger. It may not have been the legal or moral thing to do. But it had been righteous.
Just as her mission was righteous. Maybe not to the public, the police, the justice system. But to the women he’d tortured and killed? To their families? To Eliza herself? Yeah, it was righteous. She doubted the families cared how he paid, just as long as he did. People couldn’t possibly understand or conceive the monster behind the polished, charming façade. But Eliza was acquainted with it better than anyone. Only she truly knew the depths of his evilness and it was only she who could end it all. Maybe that made her just as sick and twisted as Thomas was. Or perhaps it took evil to hunt evil.
Right now, the families of the victims had no doubt been told, just as she had been, that Thomas Harrington was being freed in a very short time. They were likely feeling every single emotion Eliza had felt—was still feeling. Betrayal. Rage. Sorrow. Grief. A deep sense of injustice. They had likely lost all faith in the justice system sworn to uphold the law and sworn to punish those who broke it. But they were helpless to do anything about it. They would dream of revenge and retribution. Of justice. But Eliza would serve it cold.
And this was where Eliza differed from the others who might entertain unholy thoughts of making Thomas suffer a long and painful death. She could do something about it. She would do something about it even if it meant her own death. In many ways she’d died ten years ago when she’d realized just how stupid and very naïve she’d been. So very gullible. She was as guilty and complicit in the murder of those women as Thomas himself and she’d never forgive herself for the atrocities committed. Yes, she had died and been reborn another woman. Eliza Cummings. She’d become Eliza and had embraced a new chance. The opportunity to start over. To make a difference. To help protect those who needed protection. To seek justice for those who couldn’t. And somehow she’d managed to buy into her new-but-not-real new identity. What a fool she’d been to ever think she could atone for her sins and outrun her past. Death could only be delayed, not avoided.
In some ways . . . She stopped, frozen by the thought as it floated through her mind before she could call it back. Her heart pounded and her palms grew sweaty as she tried to open the door to her car. But she realized that thought had been there since the morning of the phone call. In the instant she’d made her decision, it had been there, only she’d ignored it, refusing to give voice to it. Refusing to acknowledge it because it made her weak, something she’d sworn never to be again.
But she had deserved to die with Thomas. And now, she was fully prepared for her death. It was her punishment. Justice being served, finally, to the fullest. Thomas had been the only one who had paid when he’d been sentenced to life in prison. She hadn’t. But she’d deserved the same punishment and now that she’d sentenced him to death by her own sense of justice, not only was it likely she’d die taking him down, it was no less than she deserved. She embraced it with calm resolution. Didn’t fear it. No longer would she try so hard to avoid the inevitable. Maybe then she would have a semblance of peace and maybe God would grant mercy on her soul for the sins she’d committed when she’d been little more than a child, powerless against the manipulation of an older more experienced man. No, not man. Psychopath. Monster. The kind that only existed in nightmares and horror movies.
The very face of evil.
Only he wasn’t a nightmare. He wasn’t fiction, some book or movie. He was very real.
She yanked open her car door and threw herself inside, backing from her parking spot at the DSS building just as she saw Dane exit the building. She made certain she didn’t make eye contact with him, but she watched from the corner of her eye as he waved in a motion for her to stop. At least by not overtly glancing in his direction, she could plead ignorance when he asked her—and he would—why the hell she’d ignored him.
Oh hell no she wasn’t stopping. When she faced Dane, she had to have her shit together and her best game face on. She accelerated a little too sharply, her tires barking in protest as she barreled from the parking garage. No doubt her esteemed leader, partner—Dane filled many roles at DSS—wanted to interrogate her and that was the last thing she needed. She had seen the looks Dane and the rest of her coworkers cast her way when they thought she wasn’t looking. They were all filled with concern, making her cringe and guilt wash through her all over again. They all knew something was up and that she wasn’t herself, but Dane would know better than anyone. She and Dane had worked together far too long and Dane never missed a goddamn thing.
