by Karen Rose
He heard a sob just as he was closing the door. Then his phone buzzed and his mood plummeted. Where ARE you? If you don’t call me in the next 30 seconds I’ll be making calls you don’t want made.
It was like a switch flipped in his brain, taking him back to his most vulnerable self. He dialed, his hands shaking, even though he knew—he knew—that she wouldn’t go through with her threat. He knew she had as much to lose as he did.
But his body was moving, ignoring the shouts from his brain to stop. To think.
“Where in the fuck are you?” she sniped at him, forgoing any greeting.
He stepped over Mutt, making him think of Pavlov and his dogs once again. That’s what I am. When she says heel, I heel. He nearly looked down to make sure he still had his balls, because it sure felt like she’d cut them off years ago.
Wasn’t like she hadn’t ever threatened to. Bitch.
“I had some car trouble,” he lied.
“You should have called.”
His feet kept moving, Mutt on the stairs behind him. “I know. I’m sorry. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“See that you are.” The call abruptly ended and he sighed heavily.
I need to kill her. I need to drag her Botoxed ass over here and kill her.
But when push came to shove, he knew he would not. He’d had hundreds of opportunities over the years. Maybe thousands. Every time she lay sated in her bed.
He considered it every time she did so, but he’d never raised a hand to her.
Mind games. He’d cleared the stairs when his cell phone buzzed yet again. Dreading what he’d see, he forced himself to peek at his screen. But it wasn’t a text.
It was a Google Alert for J Street. He’d set it up that afternoon after searching for the incident on the news and finding nothing. But there it was now. He sat on the edge of his bed and clicked on the browser link to Action News and some reporter named Elliott Scott.
Scott stood at the entrance to the alley where he’d dragged the blonde last night. He held his breath, waiting to hear the latest on the case.
Her name was Eleanor Dawson. Eleanor. That was a nice name. Old-fashioned. Except the woman from the night before had been anything but old-fashioned. She’d fought like a tiger. His balls had hurt for hours.
And there she was. The blonde. Wearing a black wool coat, her hair pulled over one shoulder. Her hair had smelled good. Like almonds.
She was standing on the front porch of a house. Using two fingers he tried to zoom in to see the address, but there was no house number visible. And then she started to talk in a husky, raspy voice he felt like he’d heard before. He hadn’t heard her all that well last night. She’d only said a few words, and those had sounded strangled.
Because he’d been strangling her.
“The man is about six feet tall, bald, has dark eyes, and wore a blue nylon ski jacket and jeans with wingtip shoes. Oh, and a Giants cap,” she said clearly into the camera, showing not one iota of nerves, like she talked into a camera every day.
She’d noticed a lot about him, he thought, mildly alarmed. Right down to my shoes. He stared down at the wingtips on his feet. Shit.
But she didn’t have a description of his face, so the stocking had achieved its purpose. So far, so good.
And then she was talking about practicing her self-defense until she’d developed muscle memory. No fucking shit. He rolled his eyes. He had not been expecting that.
When the reporter finished the segment, he opened a new browser window and typed in “Eleanor Dawson.” Wow. There were a lot of Eleanor Dawsons out there. He didn’t have time to check out all of these results. He had to get to Sydney.
He showered and shaved and put on nice clothes, every action bringing him closer to the moment he’d dreaded every single time he’d been forced to do her bidding.
For sixteen years.
By the time he gave Mutt’s head a pat, his gut was a trembling mess. Someday, he promised himself. Someday he’d kill her and let Mutt clean her bones.
“Watch the house, boy,” he murmured. “I’ll be back.”
SACRAMENTO, CALIFORNIA
FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 17, 6:50 P.M.
Zandra stared up at the ceiling, willing the panic back. Stupid, stupid, stupid. How could I have been so phenomenally stupid?
She never drank. Not enough to get drunk anyway. The one time . . .
And that was the story of her life. The one time she exceeded the speed limit, she got a ticket. The one time she’d risked her money in stocks, they’d tanked. The one time she’d risked her heart? She forced the sob back. Not now. Later. When she got free.
But the mental image of James and Monica . . . She could still see them writhing in the bed. My bed. Hers and James’s. Her fiancé and her best friend. It’s the opening scene of a romcom, she thought bitterly.
And now I’m in a horror movie. The panic began to rise in her throat and she swallowed hard. You will not panic. You will get away. And then you’ll see that the psycho bastard’s put away for the rest of his life.
After six years of trying cases with the prosecutor’s office, she certainly knew how to maximize his chances for a lengthy sentence.
Say you’re sorry. “Like hell I will,” she muttered. Those had been the words that had fallen from her lips as she’d stood frozen in the doorway to the chalet’s bedroom. When James had had the nerve to yell at her for walking in on him.
I’m sorry. I’m sorry? Really? Fuck that. It was my room!
She tugged on the ropes that bound her to the bed. The knots were expertly tied and she was feeling tired again as her adrenaline crashed. Everything got woozy and muddy and she blinked back tears.
There had to be a way to get out of this . . . place. Wherever she was. Whatever she did, she wasn’t going to tell him she was sorry. She had the feeling that would be the man’s trigger. That once she said that, he’d have no use for her anymore. Then he’d kill her. Because he’d done it before. No one has heard any of my guests.
Reality barreled through her brave facade, breaking it into bits, and terror filled her heart. God. I’m going to die. Please don’t let me die.
SACRAMENTO, CALIFORNIA
FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 17, 7:00 P.M.
The restaurant was packed by the time Gideon opened the door for Daisy, getting them both out of what had become a steady rain. Storing her glitter-covered umbrella in a stand by the door, he turned to give the hostess their reservation.
“Gideon! Daisy!”
They turned at the same time to see Rafe and Sasha waving at them from a booth against the wall. With their blond hair, dark eyes, and identical devious grins, that they were siblings was indisputable.
And now they’ve seen us together, my hand on her back. Unwilling to let Daisy go, Gideon braced himself to be teased unmercifully. It was one of the lesser perks of being adopted by the Sokolov family.
“What are you doing here?” he asked when they’d reached the table.
Sasha looked pointedly at her plate. “It’s this new thing called eating, Gideon.” She patted the seat next to her. “Sit down, DD.”
Gideon hid his disappointment in having to share Daisy with the Sokolovs and sat next to Rafe, who slid his phone over so that Gideon could see.
It was the interview with Elliott Scott.
“Wow, he got that online fast.” Gideon met Daisy’s eyes across the table. “You are officially a minor Internet sensation.”
“I figured it wouldn’t take him long,” she said philosophically. “He seemed to have his act together. He was slick.” She appeared unaffected but the menu shook in her hands as she opened it. “I want the Drunken Noodles. If I can’t get drunk, at least my noodles can.”
“You sounded good,” Sasha said, patting her arm. “Hopefully this will keep the rest of the vultures away.”
<
br /> Gideon shared a glance with Rafe, seeing that his friend didn’t believe that any more than he did.
“Did you take care of that case you got called away on?” Daisy asked Rafe, clearly wanting to change the subject away from her interview.
Rafe shook his head. “I just took a break for dinner. I have to go back out.”
“It’s a homicide?” Sasha asked sympathetically.
“Missing person,” Rafe said tersely. “Turns out this single mom was turning tricks to supplement her income from her day job at a bakery. Her family had no idea. She’d told them she’d taken the night shift at a grocery store. When she didn’t show to pick up her little girl, the victim’s grandparents started calling around to her friends, the hospitals, even the morgue. They finally talked to the one friend who knew what the victim had been doing. She searched the area where the missing woman was working and found her backpack with her purse and phone still in it. She called it in.”
“Poor family,” Sasha murmured. “To be hit twice in one day—her disappearance and her prostitution. Poor little girl.”
Rafe nodded grimly. “The kid’s tears tore me up. She’s sick, too. Cystic fibrosis. She needs a lung transplant.”
Sasha made a pained noise. “Dammit. Was that why the mom was hooking?”
“Probably. Thing is, without the kid this wouldn’t have hit our radar. That she didn’t come for the kid was the only thing that kept this from being deemed a simple runaway situation or a hooker strung out on meth somewhere.” Rafe pushed his food around on his plate. He hadn’t eaten much of it. “I got surveillance videos from the businesses in the area of her disappearance, but I’m not hopeful. Most of the cameras were at the wrong angle and the one that picked anything up is so old that the footage is shit. The lab is cleaning it up for me right now. It’s always so hard on the families. They want answers, but I don’t know if I’ll have any to give them.”
“They’ll sit and wait and hope,” Sasha said sadly. “It doesn’t look good for her.”
“No.” Rafe’s voice scraped on the single word. “And most of the time when I do get news, it’s what the family’s been dreading.”
Gideon had worked his share of those cases. They rarely ended well. He gave Rafe’s shoulder a squeeze, then noticed that Daisy had grown very quiet, her mouth pressed tight. “What’s wrong?”
Sasha’s hand flew to her mouth and both she and Rafe looked uncomfortable. And guilty. “I’m sorry, DD,” Sasha whispered. “I wasn’t thinking.”
Daisy shook her head and forced a smile. “No sorries needed.” She let out a shaky breath. “My family waited for two months for news when my sister Carrie went missing. She’d run away and we didn’t know where.”
“She didn’t come home,” Gideon murmured, remembering her use of the past tense the night before when she’d told them her phone code was her sister’s birthday.
“No,” Daisy said softly. “It ripped our family apart. I miss her so much.”
“I miss her, too,” Sasha said, then chuckled suddenly. “Remember the camping trip when she shone a flashlight on that Captain Hook hand we got at Disneyland?”
Daisy’s eyes lit up, a wicked grin curving her lips. “On the boys’ tent. They thought it was the hook-man from the legend. They ran out screaming, in their underwear.”
Sasha was full-out laughing now. “And Meg . . .”
Daisy joined her and they laughed until they cried. “Meg had the hose ready and sprayed them all as they rushed out of the tent. Your sister corrupted mine, I think. It was Carrie’s hook-hand.”
Rafe was not smiling. “It wasn’t funny. We could have gotten pneumonia.”
“It was August,” Sasha scoffed. “Omigod, Meg got in such trouble from Mom for that.”
“As she should have,” Rafe said, but his lips were twitching now.
“And now Meg’s a cop with three kids of her own.” Daisy wiped at her eyes.
“May her children be as bad as she was,” Rafe said solemnly.
“I think you should be careful that your wishes don’t boomerang back at you,” Gideon said to Rafe, glad Daisy’s eyes were happy again. Or at least not so sad. “If you ever have kids they’ll be ex-cons by kindergarten.”
“I was an angel,” Rafe insisted. “The only one who is actually named after an angel, I’ll have you know.”
Sasha snorted. “You keep on thinking that, but the universe keeps score, Raphael.”
He grinned at his sister. “Then you’re doomed.” His phone buzzed and he checked the screen with a sigh. “Work’s calling. Gotta go.”
Gideon got up so that Rafe could slide out. “Anything on Daisy’s case?” he murmured so that she couldn’t hear.
Rafe shook his head, whispering his reply. “We canvassed the area, but nobody remembers seeing a man matching Daisy’s description. There were no surveillance videos. I don’t know if he knew that in advance or he got lucky. He must have pulled the stocking off as soon as he ran, but we didn’t find it. Lab’s backed up. It’ll be at least a week before we get the skin from under her nails analyzed. Tad got fired from the station for the shit he pulled on this morning’s show, so at least that’s progress.”
“That is good news. The guy’s a dick.” Gideon hesitated. “I sent the photo of Eileen to a friend who’s a police artist.”
“Age progression? Good. I did the same, but I’ve got to wait my turn and it could be days before our artist gets to it. Send me what your guy comes up with.”
“I will. What about the man in the photograph? The one Daisy put back together?”
Rafe’s eyes met his. “Who was he?” he asked under his breath. “And not his name. Daisy sent me that. Who was he to you?”
Gideon glanced around him, but no one was paying them any attention. “Do you remember the scars on my back?” he asked, knowing that Rafe certainly would.
Rafe stiffened. “Got it. I’ll ask the lab to run it through facial recognition in case he’s shown up somewhere else, but again, I have to wait my turn. Cindy says it’ll be a few days until she has the thing put together so that she can try for a fingerprint. She’s doing it before and after her normal work.”
Gideon completely understood. So much of his job was waiting for other people to process information. He hated waiting. He was hating it more than usual because it had quickly become personal. Even if there had been no locket, Gideon felt the overwhelming need to protect Daisy Dawson, this woman who made him smile.
“Tell Cindy I appreciate it,” he said. Rafe waved his good-bye and Gideon slid back on the seat, waving over a server. Once they’d ordered, Sasha laid a few bills on the table.
“This will take care of my and Rafe’s dinners,” she said. “If you’ll excuse me?” She made a shooing motion at Daisy.
Daisy stared at her. “You’re leaving? Why?”
Sasha nodded at Daisy, then winked at Gideon. “I know better than to be a third wheel. Plus, I have a date.”
Daisy let her out. “With whom?” she asked suspiciously as she sat back down.
Sasha waggled her brows. “Sexy school librarian. We’re going rock climbing at the gym.” Sasha dropped a kiss on Daisy’s cheek, then on Gideon’s. “You two kids have fun. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t.”
“There’s very little you wouldn’t do,” Gideon said dryly.
Sasha winked again. “I know.”
Daisy exhaled when Sasha was gone. “Well. I feel like I just survived a tornado.”
“Hurricane Sasha,” Gideon said with a small grin. “She’s like lightning in a bottle.”
“She wasn’t before we went away to the ranch.” Daisy looked a little sad. “I missed her emergence.”
An odd word choice, Gideon thought. “What?”
“From her cocoon. She’s like this amazing butterfly now, but then she was quiet and reserved
.” Daisy tilted her head. “She told me that the two of you would sit up in her little attic hideout. And that she came out to you first.”
“It was . . .” One of the most special moments of his whole life. He’d felt included. Part of the Sokolov clan. Trusted. “Nice,” he finished. Nice? He rolled his eyes at himself.
She smiled at him, as if hearing the words he couldn’t seem to form out loud. “She kind of idolizes you, you know. She claims it was only when she was a kid, but I’m pretty sure nothing has changed. Just so you know. You were the brother she needed you to be.”
Gideon swallowed hard. “Thank you. That’s . . .”
Her smile widened. “Nice? Yes, it is.” Her smile dimmed as her phone began to light up with texts. “My world has seen the news story. Irina, Karl, my dad, Taylor. Wow. Even my sister Julie.” One side of her mouth lifted. “Her texting skills are really improving.”
“That’s your sister with cerebral palsy?”
“Yes.” Daisy found a photo on her phone. “That’s us this past summer.”
Three women and a little girl smiled for the camera. Daisy had her arm around a tall brunette who cuddled the little girl close. The three of them crowded around the third woman in a wheelchair. “Taylor, Julie, and Cordelia?”
“Yes. Taylor’s fiancé took that picture.” Her phone buzzed some more and she sighed. “Now I’m getting texts from all the people I volunteer with. And my sponsor. They all want to know how I am.” She looked up at him, a bewildered look in her eyes. “But I don’t know what to tell them.”
“Maybe for now just tell them that you’re safe and processing,” Gideon suggested.
“That’s good. Safe and processing.”
He watched her answer the texts, her lower lip pulled between her teeth. She was concentrating, but not the same way she had as she’d put the puzzle together. That expression had been one of joy. This was not.
“I hate that they worry about me,” she said, lifting her eyes to his. “They’re worried I’ll fall off the wagon, but nobody but my sponsor asks me. They just dance around it.”
