What Are You Afraid Of?

by Alexandra Ivy

“Are there any other relatives?” he finally asked.

  “None that I can remember.” Her tone was deliberately stripped of emotion. Griff got it. He had the same habit. When you were without a family, you pretended that you were happier alone. Sometimes you even believed it. “My mother was an only child,” she added.

  Griff nodded. The family seemed like a good place to start. But he wouldn’t let his swelling dislike for an uncle and cousins who didn’t seem to have made an effort to reach out to the orphaned Carmen blind him.

  Right now he needed to gather as much intel as possible.

  Later he would decide who and what needed to be further investigated.

  “What about close friends?” he asked.

  “Of my parents?”

  “Yes.”

  There was a long silence as she tried to sort through her childhood memories. He wondered if she had any happy ones. A strange emotion tugged at his heart.

  “None that stand out,” she finally announced. “There were a lot of parties and weekends spent at various people’s homes.”

  His lips twitched. The life of the rich and powerful.

  “What about you?” he asked. “Did you have anyone you spent time with?”

  “I had a group of friends from school.”

  “Any boys?”

  “No.” She gave a firm shake of her head. “I was sent to a private girls’ school.”

  Griff felt a stab of relief. That narrowed down the possibilities.

  “What about the neighborhood?” he asked. “Any boys who used to hang around more than you wanted?”

  Again with the shake of her head. “Our estate was on the edge of town, so there weren’t any close neighbors.”

  His brows pulled together as he thought of his childhood in Chicago. With only his mother’s income as a cop, they’d lived in apartments that weren’t in the worst part of the city, but certainly weren’t the best. They’d been crammed next to their neighbors like sardines in a can.

  “No kids at all?”

  “My cousins on occasion,” she said, then she made a tiny sound. “Oh, and the housekeeper’s son. I’d almost forgotten about Ronnie.”

  “You had a housekeeper?”

  “Yes.” He could feel her curious glance. Like she didn’t understand how anyone could be surprised they had a servant. “Ellen Hyde.”

  “Did she live in?”

  She nodded. “Ellen had an apartment above the garage.”

  “Was she married?”

  She took a minute. “I don’t know if they were married, but there was a man who lived with her,” she finally said. “His first name was Andrew, but it seemed like he had a different last name.”

  “Did he work for your parents?”

  “Yeah. He helped around the house doing odd jobs. Sometimes he’d drive me to school.”

  The unknown servant was put on Griff’s mental list of suspects.

  “What about the son?”

  “Ronnie?” Her tone was dismissive. “He was usually somewhere around the estate.”

  “Were you friends?”

  “Not really.”

  “Because he was the housekeeper’s son?”

  She made a sound of annoyance at his question. “Because he was older than me. And a boy,” she said in sharp tones. Clearly, she didn’t like being accused of being a snob. “He spent a lot more time with my cousins.”

  Ronnie went on the suspect list.

  “Is there anyone else from your childhood?”

  “None.” She flopped back in her seat, clearly done with the conversation. “I’m telling you that going to Louisville is a waste of our time.”

  “It’s a place to start,” he said, his attention focusing on the thickening traffic as they neared the suburbs of St. Louis.

  He sounded more confident than he felt.

  After all, he was clinging to the fact that her name had been written incorrectly on an invoice. He could very well be chasing shadows.

  But he did have one comfort no matter what happened.

  Carmen wasn’t going to Baltimore.

  Not even if he had to drive her all the way to California and lock her in his bedroom.

  Chapter Ten

  Hunter wasn’t entirely satisfied.

  The four women looked perfect. They were all neatly arranged on the basement floor. They all had copies of “The Raven” prominently placed on their chests. They had their hair brushed and were all wearing white robes. They looked like angels that had simply laid down to go to sleep.

  The perfect muses.

  It wasn’t until a person peeled back the robes that it would be obvious they’d been brutally raped and beaten to death.

  Still, the pictures he’d just taken didn’t fully capture the glory of his staging.

  Maybe it was the nasty basement. He’d let Slayer locate the row of abandoned homes where they could stash the bodies. It wasn’t until he arrived that he realized they were used by the local drug addicts to smoke their meth. It not only meant the bodies would be found quicker than he wanted, but that the cellar floor was littered with beer cans, used needles, and condoms.

  Disgusting.

  Or maybe it was the lack of decent lighting. The one narrow window was boarded over, leaving the space bathed in shadows.

  He gave a shake of his head, tucking the pictures in the pocket of his heavy parka. He should have posed the women upstairs before he’d had his companion carry them down the rotting staircase, but they would have to do.

  He didn’t have time to make changes. His schedule was already tight.

  A shame since he’d had a text from his informant that Carrie was on her way to Baltimore. It would be delicious to stay and toy with her, but he had to get home for the holidays. He couldn’t risk having people asking where he was, or why he wasn’t around for Christmas.

  He’d drop the pictures into the mail. Maybe to her house. She’d eventually find them, right? Or maybe her PR person again.

  But first he had business to finish.

  Stepping back, he watched as the younger man paced around the women, his square face even more jaundiced in the fluorescent light.

  Butcher was still eager, even after he’d spent the morning abusing his female. Clearly, his bloodlust was escalating.

  A good thing his expiration date had just arrived.

  “They look so peaceful,” the younger man said, his movements jerky.

  Hunter took a step back, a tiny smile playing around his lips. There was no reason he couldn’t have a little fun before he rid the world of one more monster.

  “Do you think so?” he asked.

  “Yes.” The younger man’s hands twitched, blood still staining his fingers. A messy, childish monster. “Death must be a relief,” he continued.

  Hunter released a low chuckle. “I doubt they thought it was a relief. They screamed and pleaded as if they wanted to live. Even after we’d all had our turn with them.”

  Butcher turned to face him, his too-wide brow furrowed. This wasn’t part of the game. The younger man liked to be comforted after the violence.

  “Their lives are miserable, right?” he demanded. “That’s what you said. They flaunt their bodies and tempt men to do bad things. It’s not like we would want to hurt them if they didn’t beg for it.”

  Hunter pursed his lips, refusing to soothe the man’s swelling distress.

  “Completely their own fault, hmmm?”

  “It is.” He stomped his foot. Like a petulant child. “You said—”

  “A tale begun in other days, when summer suns were glowing,” he softly quoted.

  “What does that mean?”

  “Do you believe everything you’re told?” Hunter demanded, his expression mocking.

  “I’m not stupid.”

  “Actually, you are,” he assured his companion. “Unbelievably stupid.”

  The younger man flinched, his eyes filling with tears. Hunter had been able to manipulate his companion with the a
pproval he so desperately craved. Withdrawing that support was like a knife in the heart.

  “Why are you being so mean?” he asked.

  Hunter strolled forward, his hand reaching into the pocket of his coat. He’d already ensured his favorite pistol was tucked in there. Loaded and with the safety off.

  “I think we all must occasionally be honest with ourselves,” he drawled. “You, my friend, are a butcher in name and deed.” He nodded his head toward the dead women who lined the floor. “Just look at your handiwork.”

  Butcher hunched his shoulders. “It wasn’t me. We all did it.”

  Hunter reached out with his toe to lightly touch the nearest body. The female had been his. Not very satisfying, but his side trip to the hotel in Kansas had meant that he hadn’t had the same opportunity as the others to choose a proper victim.

  Sacrifices, sacrifices.

  “Yes, so much easier as a group, isn’t it?” he asked in soft tones.

  Belatedly sensing the danger that prickled in the stale, nasty air, the younger man took a sharp step backward. His gaze darted around the gloom.

  “Where is everyone else?” he demanded.

  “It’s the holidays, my dear boy.” Hunter closed the space between them. It wasn’t really necessary. He was an excellent shot. But it was so much more satisfying to witness death up close and personal. “It would look suspicious if we weren’t home.”

  “What about Assassin?” The man licked his dry lips. “You said he was coming to join us.”

  Hunter smiled. “I’m afraid he was detained.”

  The younger man’s frown deepened. Maybe he didn’t know what detained meant. Or maybe he realized that he wasn’t getting out of the cellar alive.

  “Where is he?”

  “He decided he wanted to stay with our previous victims.”

  “What does that mean?”

  Hunter considered before he confessed the truth. Why not? It wasn’t like the man was going to have the opportunity to tell anyone.

  “I shot him in the head and left his body in the farmhouse. Eventually he’ll be found.”

  Butcher gasped in shock. “Why?”

  “Because he was a weak link.” Hunter pulled the gun out of his pocket and aimed it at his companion. “Just as you are.”

  “No.” The man held up his hands, as if he could stop a bullet with his fingers. Idiot. “We’re a team. You said so.”

  Hunter snorted. “I say a lot of things I don’t mean.”

  “But you need me.” With an awkward movement, the younger man lowered himself to his knees, his expression pleading. “I’m your friend.”

  “You are my scapegoat.”

  Hunter pulled the trigger, drilling the bullet right between the man’s eyes. Blood and brain matter splattered across the back wall before the man toppled to the side. Hunter shook his head, his ears ringing as the shot echoed in the small space. Then, leaning down, he pressed the gun into the dead man’s hand.

  The cops would eventually realize that this was more than a meth head who’d gone on a crazed shooting spree. But it would give him time to drive to the airport.

  Rising to his feet, he gazed down at the man he’d trained to become a killer.

  “Merry Christmas, Josh.”

  He stepped over the corpse and headed for the stairs.

  His work here was done.

  December 24, Louisville, KY

  Carmen sat next to Griff as he drove the truck through the nearly empty streets of the fancy Louisville suburb.

  The morning had dawned with a crisp, pure beauty. The clouds had given way to reveal a brilliant blue sky and the golden wash of sunlight. Even the icy breeze had been dulled to a bearable chill.

  It wasn’t balmy, but it wasn’t the brutal cold they’d left in Kansas City.

  So why was she shivering?

  It was a stupid question.

  She might have spent the past twelve hours trying to ignore the fact she was in the city she’d sworn never to step foot in again, but she couldn’t completely fool herself.

  Thankfully, last night she’d been so exhausted, she’d barely had the energy to stand next to Griff as he’d checked them into the suite at the fancy hotel. A distant part of her brain had acknowledged he’d no doubt had to call in a few favors and paid a fortune to get them a room on such short notice. Another part had whispered that she was beginning to rely on this man’s capable ability to take care of her. But the numerous concerns that stewed inside her had been muted by her fuzzy weariness.

  She didn’t want to worry about being home. Or the fear that there was still a serial killer out there somewhere. Or her snowballing dependency on Griffin Archer. She wanted to sleep.

  So that’s what she did.

  Crawling into the guest bed in the elegant penthouse suite, she’d pulled the covers over her head and allowed the darkness to overwhelm her.

  Unfortunately, she couldn’t hide in the bed forever. Not when Griff was knocking on her door at an ungodly hour to say that breakfast had been delivered.

  She shuffled out to find a large tray of food waiting next to the window that offered a stunning view of Louisville, as well as several plastic bags that were filled with mounds of clothing from the downstairs boutique. Pulling them open, she discovered that there was everything from casual jeans to an elegant cocktail gown.

  To face her family, she chose a sleek black pencil skirt and sapphire silk top. Both fit to perfection. Griff chose a pair of black slacks and a cream cable-knit sweater. More perfection.

  A dangerous warmth flared through her heart. Griff had not only remembered her voracious appetite, but he’d sensed that she needed the sort of expensive clothing that would be worn by her relatives.

  Like putting on a layer of armor.

  Then, in silence they’d ridden the elevator down to the parking garage and taken off in the truck.

  Less than half an hour later, Griff was pulling to a halt in the circle drive in front of the two-story white antebellum house with black shutters. The wide front porch was framed with four fluted columns and sweeping steps that led to the double oak doors. The surrounding grounds were swaths of closely trimmed grass with ancient trees that had been there long before George Rogers Clark had created the first settlement that had eventually become Louisville.

  It was all graceful lines and elegant pride.

  Exactly what a Southern home should be.

  But the mere sight of it twisted Carmen’s stomach with dread.

  Next to her, Griff released a low whistle. Like most people he could only see the surface beauty. Not the rot that was hidden beneath the superficial charm.

  “This is where you grew up?”

  She gave a stiff nod. “Yes.”

  “Nice.”

  “I prefer my grandparents’ farmhouse.”

  Griff switched off the engine of the truck, wrapping them in silence. The house was only a few miles from downtown Louisville, but it might as well have been a hundred.

  In this neighborhood there were no sounds of honking horns, or buses rattling over potholes. Certainly, there weren’t any wailing sirens or chatter from pedestrians as they hurried to work.

  Nope. The only sound allowed here was the occasional purr of a large engine as the Jags and Porsches zoomed past the outer road.

  “Obviously, your uncle didn’t share your lack of appreciation for your childhood home,” Griff said, his gaze skimming over the porch that was larger than most apartments. “I did a quick background check. He moved in the day after your parents’ funeral.”

  She resisted the urge to sigh. She couldn’t remember being particularly close to her uncle or cousins, but she couldn’t make herself believe they were cold-blooded serial killers.

  Of course, her father had obviously been unstable.

  Maybe it ran in the family.

  She gave a sharp shake of her head, trying to dislodge the horrible thoughts.

  “The estate has belonged to the Jacobses for
a couple generations,” she explained. “He probably felt it was his duty to move in.”

  “Hardly a duty,” Griff protested.

  “A big house and lots of grass doesn’t equate to happiness,” she said, her tone sharp.

  Griff reached to grab her fingers, giving them a small squeeze. “Are you ready for this?”

  “Not really.”

  He leaned toward her, wrapping her in his warm, masculine scent.

  “If you want to go back to the hotel, I can—”

  “No.” She sucked in a deep breath. The sooner they could eliminate her family as suspects, the sooner they could return to the hunt. “I just want to get this over with.”

  He lifted her fingers, pressing them to his lips. A tingle of heat spread through her body, easing her shivers.

  This man clearly had a magic touch.

  A renegade image of allowing those enchanted fingers to explore her naked body seared through her mind.

  “I’m going to be with you every step of the way,” he murmured. “I promise.”

  The urge to lean forward and snuggle against his chest was shockingly strong. As if her body had suddenly developed a mind of its own.

  With a silent curse, she pulled away from his light grasp, and unbuckled her seat belt. By the time she’d shoved open the passenger door and crawled out of the truck, Griff was at her side, firmly grabbing her elbow.

  Did he think she might bolt?

  Or was he hoping to offer her strength to face her family?

  The thought was almost as unnerving as the lust that continued to heat her blood. She’d put a lot of effort into making sure she didn’t need anyone.

  For anything.

  Still, she didn’t pull away. She didn’t ask herself why not.

  Together they climbed the shallow stairs and crossed the planked floor of the front porch. Griff reached out to press the bell, ignoring the heavy gold knocker.

  Several minutes passed before the door was slowly tugged open to reveal a middle-aged woman in a starched uniform.

  Carmen felt a stab of surprise, realizing that she’d been expecting Ellen to open the door. Ridiculous, considering how many years had passed. The woman could have retired. Or moved from the area.

  “May I help you?” the servant asked, her round face flushed as if she’d been forced to run from the back of the house.