Say You're Sorry

by Karen Rose

  Daisy scrambled to her knees, grabbed the still-ringing cell phone from the nightstand, and handed it to Gideon. “It’s yours.”

  “Oh God. What time is it?” He tapped the screen. “Hello?” A second later he was fully awake. “Tino, hey.”

  Tino was his friend in Philly. Hopefully this meant age-regressed sketches they could use to search for the two men who’d abused Gideon in the compound.

  “No, don’t worry about it. It’s not that late here,” Gideon said. “I had a little altercation with a suspect and I’m still recovering. What do you have?” He listened for a few moments, said, “Hold on,” then opened his e-mail. He stared at his phone for a long moment before putting it back to his ear. “Wow. Thank you, Tino. It’s more than I hoped for. I’ll be sure to let you know what we find. Thanks again.”

  He ended the call and handed his phone to her. The photos on the screen had her sucking in a startled breath. Two men, about the age Gideon was now. Both rugged and . . . harsh-looking. There was cruelty in their eyes, an edge that said they’d take what they wanted and damn the consequences. It had been noticeable in the wedding photos if one had known to look for it. Here, though, it was the first thing one saw.

  “Wow,” she murmured.

  “I know,” Gideon murmured back.

  “Did you tell him who they were and what they’d done?”

  He shook his head. “No. Tino just seems to know stuff. Eyes are his specialty.”

  The light knock on the bedroom door had them both jumping. Gideon grimaced. “We’re busted,” he whispered. “Yes?” he called.

  “I heard a thump,” Irina said. “Are you okay, Gideon?”

  “I’m fine, Irina,” he said.

  “Is Daisy okay then?” she asked, sounding amused.

  Daisy rolled her eyes. “I’m fine, Irina,” she called.

  “That’s good, dear. I figured you were here when you weren’t in your own bed when I went to say good night.”

  “Not like we’re adults or anything,” Daisy muttered.

  “What was that, dear?” Irina’s question was followed by a laugh, deep and rolling. Male.

  “Karl,” she and Gideon said together.

  “Good night, Irina,” Daisy said firmly. “Good night, Karl.” She gave them time to leave, then looked up at Gideon. “That was close.”

  “Karl and Irina?” He shrugged his good shoulder. “I figured they knew you were here.”

  “No.” She reached behind her for Brutus. “I almost squashed her.”

  “Poor girl.” He reached down to scratch behind the dog’s ears.

  Daisy kissed Brutus on the head. “Tomorrow we take over Sasha’s old room and make her sleep here. She’s got a queen bed.”

  “If we’re still here. We don’t have to go back to your place. My house has an excellent security system.”

  “I like that idea even better.”

  He patted the bed. “Put Brutus on the other bed and come here.” He lifted the blanket for her to crawl under. “I need to forward these photos to Molina.”

  “Give me your phone. I’ll type the message and then you can go back to sleep.”

  “Maybe,” he said, still frowning at the phone’s screen.

  The photos were exceptionally well done. Gideon’s friend had a gift. The photos also represented the worst moments in Gideon’s life, moments he’d been forced to relive at the dinner table tonight.

  She slipped the phone from his hands and kissed his jaw. “Let me send the e-mail to Agent Molina and then I’ll see about helping you sleep.”

  One dark brow lifted, making him look wicked in the dim light of the moon through the window. “That is an intriguing offer.”

  “I thought you’d think so. What do you want this to say?”

  He frowned again. “Maybe I’ll call her before I send her the photos. It’ll be easier to explain on the phone. Can you set an alarm for five forty-five? She’s usually in the office by six. If I get to her before anyone else does, she’ll be in a better mood.”

  “Considering she told you not to be working, that’s not a bad plan.” Daisy set the alarm, then put the phone on the nightstand and cuddled up to his side so that their lips were only millimeters apart. “Now. Let’s discuss sleeping aids.”

  His lips curved. “Is that what we’re calling it?”

  “A Daisy by any other name?”

  He laughed. “I’m still shaking my head over the story your father told at dinner, about why you’re called Daisy. How you made daisychain princess crowns out of the arboretum’s prized orchids.”

  She rolled her eyes. “They were flowers, for God’s sake. Mom would take us to the park and we’d make daisy chain crowns and pretend we were princesses. Who knew orchids were worth a few hundred bucks? No flower should be worth a few hundred bucks.” Then she kissed him softly. “My dad likes telling that story a little too much. But it made him smile, so thank you.”

  “He sent me a photo of you and your sister, wearing the orchid crowns. I’m going to make it the wallpaper on my phone.”

  “We were pretty cute,” Daisy admitted.

  “So now I know why you’re called Daisy, but why do you hate ‘Eleanor’ so much? It’s a pretty name.”

  “I was named for my great-grandmother and there’s a photo of her in my grandmother’s house that used to terrify me when I was really little, before my mom died. The old Eleanor was sitting in a rocking chair, clutching the arms, you know? And her fingers were like witch’s claws. She scared me so much.” She shuddered and he chuckled.

  “What?” Gideon asked. “It’s cute.”

  “Yeah, yeah, cute me,” she grumbled.

  “You don’t want to be cute?”

  “No. I want to be badass.”

  She watched as his eyes grew dark. Intense. “I’d say there’s a wanted killer out there who thinks you are. And I’d have to agree. I hate that you have to protect yourself, but I’m so damn glad that you can. You are very badass, Miss Dawson.”

  She didn’t want to think about the man who’d attacked her twice, who’d sat inches away talking about jobs in radio and his dog. Who’d killed Trish. And others. She swallowed hard, not caring that she was blatantly changing the subject. “And sexy. I want to be sexy. To you.”

  One side of his mouth curled up, his tone growing much lighter. “Oh, you definitely are that.” He slid his hand under the hem of her sweater, toying with her skin. “Isn’t this sweater uncomfortable?”

  “Oh, very,” she said with mock seriousness.

  His finger traced lazy circles on her back, making her shiver. “I’d hate for you to be uncomfortable.”

  “You are such a gentleman.”

  He laughed quietly. “I can’t do this with a straight face. Just take it off, Daisy.” Sobering, he stared up at her for so long she actually did feel uncomfortable. “Please,” he whispered. “I want to feel your skin.”

  She pushed to her knees, grabbing the hem of the sweater to pull it off . . . when his cell phone rang again.

  He let his head fall back against the pillow. “Fuck.”

  “Or not,” she said unhappily. She reached for his phone and frowned. “It’s Rafe. Maybe he found something on Eileen?”

  “Put it on speaker?” He waited until she did. “Hey. I’ve got Daisy here. What did you find today?”

  “I’ll tell you in a minute,” Rafe said, his voice tense. “Where are you?”

  “Your parents’ house.”

  “Sasha?” Rafe asked.

  “Also here,” Gideon told him. “Should we get her?”

  “No. She just wasn’t answering her phone. I need you to get to my house as quickly as you can.”

  “Why?” Gideon asked, but he was already scooting around her to get out of bed.

  “I’m still in Portlan
d. My flight was delayed, but we’ve boarded now. Listen, I just got a text from my neighbor, Ned Eldridge. He said there’s a car sitting in front of my house. He didn’t pay attention to it, because there’ve been so many reporters camping out. But it’s been there for two hours. He got a photo of the driver.”

  “Is it him?” Gideon asked excitedly. He found a folded shirt on the dresser and held it out to Daisy, his brows raised in a request for help. “Our suspect?”

  “No,” Rafe said. “Gideon, I think it’s Mercy.”

  The shirt fluttered to the floor. Gideon turned to lean against the dresser, his features slack with shock. “What?”

  “I think it’s Mercy. I told Ned not to approach her. I didn’t want to scare her off.”

  Gideon didn’t say a word. He just stared at the phone, his mouth open.

  “Gid?” Rafe asked. “You still there?”

  Daisy jumped off the bed, picked up the shirt, and started working on removing Gideon’s sling. “Rafe, he’ll be on his way as soon as I get him dressed.”

  “Ohhh. Okay. I . . . I’m not touching that with a ten-foot pole. What do you want Ned to do if she starts to drive away?”

  “Stop her,” Gideon blurted. “Thanks, Rafe.”

  “You got it. Drive safely, okay?”

  “We will.” Daisy ended the call and opened the bedroom door. “Irina, Karl! Can you come here, please?” She had the sling off when the entire household gathered in the doorway. “Can you tell Agent Hunter that we need to go back to my place, right away?”

  Gideon grabbed her wrist, halting her as she put his injured arm through the sleeve. “No we. Just me.”

  “Yeah? No.” She looked over at them, focusing on her father, who’d opened his mouth to no doubt protest. “Mercy’s at my house. Gideon is not going alone.”

  Irina nodded. “No, not alone. You will obey every word the agent tells you?”

  “Every word,” Daisy promised, putting Gideon’s other arm in the sleeve. Unless he tells me I can’t go. Because Gideon was not going to face his sister alone.

  Gideon huffed a laugh. “Daisy, I’m getting the distinct impression you were a bit of a handful as a kid.”

  “You have no idea,” Frederick said dryly. “Daisy, take Brutus and go downstairs to wait. I’ll help him with his clothes.” He glanced at Gideon. “I’m going, too. I’ll ride shotgun. Literally.”

  Daisy was about to tell him no way in hell when Gideon nodded. “I’d appreciate it, Frederick. Thank you.”

  Daisy was still openmouthed and staring when Irina tugged her out of the room. “Do what your father says, Daisy.”

  Daisy exhaled loudly. “Fine.” She passed Sasha’s room, where her friend stood in the doorway, not even bothering to hide her grin. “Don’t start.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t think of it,” Sasha snickered. “I’m too busy laughing my ass off watching you be all obedient and shit.”

  “I’m obedient,” Daisy muttered. “When I want to be.”

  “Sasha,” Irina chided. “Leave her alone. Karl, go back to sleep.”

  “We weren’t asleep,” Karl said, waggling his brows.

  Sasha groaned. “Stop. I can’t do this.” She closed her door with a snap.

  Irina guided Daisy to the stairs. “My children insist on believing they were brought by the stork. Come, Daisy. I’ll make you some coffee to take with you.” She paused a few steps from the bottom, her eyes suddenly revealing her true emotions—anxiety and uncertainty. “You’ll call me, won’t you?” she whispered. “Let me know what his sister says?”

  Daisy kissed her cheek. “Of course.”

  TWENTY-SIX

  SACRAMENTO, CALIFORNIA

  MONDAY, FEBRUARY 20, 10:10 P.M.

  Bellamy, Anna. Pennsylvania. Fiddler, Janice. Washington. Zandra stared up at the ceiling, desperately grappling to hold on. Not to lose hope. Not to fall apart.

  Not to get comfortable in the clean sheets, silk nightshirt, and soft ties around her wrists and ankles. Not to be grateful for the “kindness” because it wasn’t kindness at all.

  He wants to break me. I won’t break.

  But she was so damn tired.

  Orlov, Nadia. Illinois. Stevenson, Rayanna. Texas. DeVeen, Rosamond. Minnesota. Borge, Delfina. California. Oliver, Makayla. New York. Danton, Eileen. Oregon.

  Names on pieces of plastic, hanging in a sadist’s cabinet in a cold, silent basement. Where a dead woman lay in the freezer against the wall. Martell, Kaley. California.

  Hart, Trisha. California. His most recent victim. Zandra remembered when he’d shown her the license, when he’d placed it in the cabinet. When he’d taken off Kaley’s lucky horseshoe and replaced it with Trish’s turquoise cross in some kind of macabre ceremony.

  What day was that?

  She didn’t know. She didn’t know what day this was. I’m going to die here. And he’s going to put my license in the cabinet and no one will ever know what happened to me.

  Her eyes filled with tears and, hardening her jaw, she resolutely blinked them away. No. He will not break me. I’m going to get out of here.

  The doorknob rattled and Zandra tightened her body in dread. He’s back. He’s back and he’s going to start all over again.

  But the door didn’t open and the rattling continued, followed by a banging.

  She sucked in a breath, too terrified to hope. Someone was out there. Someone not him.

  But then the banging stopped and Zandra’s heart sank. They were leaving.

  “H—” Her throat was too dry. “Help.” She wanted to scream it, but it came out as not even a whisper. “Please.” A sob tightened her chest and she fought it back. “Don’t go.”

  But she was whispering. No one would hear her.

  No one would help—

  The door flew open, revealing a woman standing in the doorway. “You fucking slut.”

  Zandra turned her head toward the door, staring. The woman wasn’t young. She wasn’t old, either. It was hard to say, at least with the scowl she wore. A scowl and a white satin peignoir. And five-inch heels.

  Zandra started to ask for help but the woman burst into the room.

  And slapped her.

  Zandra stared up at her, tears forming in her eyes. He did this. He set me up. He wanted me to hope. To think that she’d help me.

  It was too cruel. And too much. No longer able to hold the tears back, Zandra began to cry. Big, huge sobs that racked her body.

  He’d done it. He broke me.

  The woman leaned into her space, her face inches from Zandra’s. “Do not think your tears will move me,” she snarled. “You’re a manipulative bitch, like all the others.”

  Zandra shook her head, no words forming. Tears flowing.

  “Don’t tell me no. You’re one of his whores. Did you think I didn’t know about you? Did you think I’d let you have him?”

  She was drunk, Zandra realized. And maybe high. The woman’s eyes were glazed, insane. Definitely insane.

  “Water,” Zandra managed to croak out. “Please.”

  “You get nothing from me except the fucking door.”

  To Zandra’s shock, the woman began to yank at the ties binding her to the bed. Loosening the knots.

  “You’re nothing. You come in here and play your little sex games. A little S&M, a little BDSM.” She sneered, ripping the first binding from Zandra’s wrist. The woman went immediately to the second binding, clawing at the knot with long, elegantly manicured nails. “I made him. He’s mine. Gave him the best years of my damn life and you think you can come along and take him from me?”

  The second binding came off and the woman moved to the third, shoving the blanket up Zandra’s legs. She gave Zandra a furious glance. “What did he promise you? Money?” She snorted. “He’s got none. He comes to me for money.” She point
ed to her own chest. “To me. I control his money. I control him. He thinks this is his house. He thinks he has secrets. I know all his secrets. I’ve known about his little kink for years. You’re not the first woman he’s brought down here.”

  She loosened the knot at Zandra’s left ankle but used no care, her nails digging into already abraded skin. Zandra choked back a moan.

  The woman chuckled. “You like that? You’re a pain slut. He must be a good master.” She sounded . . . proud? “I taught him everything he knows.” She was on the final tie. “You want him? Tough shit. Get your own. Start him young.” She looked up from the knot she was freeing and smiled, making Zandra’s blood run cold. “Ten is best. Twelve at the latest. They’ll eat right out of your hand. Literally.”

  Zandra stared at the woman in horror, unable to move even when the last tie was ripped off her skin. And then she understood. “Sydney,” she whispered hoarsely.

  “Sydney,” the name he called when he was in a rage.

  Say you’re sorry.

  The woman straightened, looking pleased. “He told you about me?”

  Zandra couldn’t say anything. Not a single word.

  “Get up,” Sydney snapped.

  Zandra blinked rapidly, trying to get enough control over her body to stand. But she’d been tied too long, her body too exhausted. Her legs refused to move.

  “I said, get up!” Sydney grabbed her arm and dragged her, blanket and all, off the bed onto the floor.

  Zandra struggled to stand, her knees like rubber.

  “Move.” Sydney dragged her out of the room, where she nearly tripped over a dog.

  A dog? Zandra squinted down, not sure she’d seen right. But it was a dog. Its tongue was out, its tail wagging.

  Sydney kicked at the dog. “Get out of my way,” she ordered and hauled Zandra up a flight of stairs. Tangled in the blanket, Zandra stumbled and fell to her knees, barely able to breathe.

  Move, she screamed at herself. Run. Get away while you can.

  But her limbs didn’t move. Everything was blurry and the room spun. She retched, but there was nothing to come up.