Master of the Abyss

by Cherise Sinclair

  Jake heard the shuddering breath Kallie took and then the lie. “I’m fine.”

  “Hell, honey, I wish I could stay, but—”

  “No, cuz.” She glanced at Jake, and the lifeless look in her eyes cut like a blade through Jake’s heart. “In fact, I won’t be here. I’m going to head up the hill and sit by my stream.”

  The cop frowned. “I’d rather you stay put. We still—”

  “I want out of here. Let me out!” Inside the cop car, Whipple banged his shoulder against the door.

  “Go,” Kallie said.

  Masterson gave her a frustrated look and jerked his chin at Jake. “Move, Hunt. I’ll meet you at the station.”

  “Kallie—”

  “Go away, Jake. Just…go away.” Her voice was flat—no anger, no warmth, no life.

  * * *

  The aching knot in her chest stayed with Kallie as she hooked a water bottle onto her always-ready-to-go backpack. It stayed as she patted Mufasa, as she checked the horses in the corral. Wyatt and Morgan would return around dark, so the animals would get fed. All she wanted was to escape.

  The pressure eased a little as she moved up the trail. The scent of pine surrounded her, and the hateful words she’d almost yelled at Jake faded into the quiet.

  Up and up. Her breath came harder as her muscles strained against the steep climb. The effort of hiking around dead timber from the last storm, climbing over rocky outcroppings, and dodging low-hanging branches occupied her. Perhaps they should work on trail maintenance this summer. But no hurry. No need to keep a private trail groomed like the ones at Serenity Lodge.

  Her mind fled from memories of the lodge as if she’d stepped on a yellow jacket nest. Don’t think of him. Let it all wait until she reached her special place. If she started crying now, she wouldn’t be able to see the path. And just look what that bastard did to me—I don’t cry, dammit.

  Reddish rays glinted through the trees as the sun hung over the western mountains. Sunset. It would be twilight when she arrived.

  The thought of her peaceful sanctuary comforted her. Soon after she’d moved in with the Mastersons, Uncle Harvey had taken her up the mountain. He’d said each boy had selected a private campsite for their very own—a place to conquer their demons, their angers, their sorrows. He’d told her to find a spot for herself, saying she’d need a place to escape from a household of four butt-headed men. She smiled, remembering how he’d called them that. She’d used her forest sanctuary often those first few years.

  There. White river rocks marked the turnoff to her spot. She paused on the ridge to catch her breath and let the breeze cool the sweat on her face. The trickling sound of her tiny stream called her. My place. In weary relief, she left the trail and headed to her sanctuary.

  * * *

  The bastard Masterson tailgated Jake all the way back to town, giving him no chance to turn around. So when they arrived in Bear Flat, Jake parked across the street in front of the grocery store behind Secrist’s delivery truck, then walked over to the police station like a cooperative little citizen. Masterson nodded approval.

  He waited until Masterson had hauled Whipple out of the back and had his hands full with the furious man. Then Jake turned and headed straight for his truck. He’d make Kallie listen to him whether—

  “Hunt, hold up a minute,” Masterson yelled. Hell. Jake checked his six for what had happened behind him. A uniformed officer marched Whipple into the station as Masterson strode across the street after Jake.

  To hell with this. Kallie wasn’t fine like she’d said. She shouldn’t be alone. A few feet from his truck, he turned and faced the cop. “Either arrest me or back the hell off.”

  “No arrest, Hunt. I’m on break.”

  “And?” Jake glanced at the mountains, where the sun almost touched the peaks. He needed to leave.

  “And this.” The cop punched Jake so hard he staggered back.

  Jake’s jaw flared with pain. What the fuck? For one second, he stood, stunned; then fury poured through his veins. Been a hell of a day. Didn’t need this kind of shit. He slammed into the cop and shot a fist right into his gut.

  Jake caught a punch in return and blocked another. Stepping to one side, Jake almost tripped over stacked pallets of drinks and saw Secrist’s shocked face. Poor delivery guy acted like he’d never seen a fistfight before. Just watch, buddy. You’ll see plenty.

  He caught Masterson with a punch hard enough to knock him back against the pickup. “What the hell is this about?”

  “You fucking bastard.” Masterson wiped blood off his chin. “I warned you not to hurt Kallie.”

  Oh, hell. When Jake faltered, Masterson nailed him with a short one to the ribs.

  Fuck this. Jake struck before Masterson could retreat, belted him in the mouth, and followed with a gut shot that folded the cop in half.

  As Masterson straightened and his fists came back up, Jake stepped out of reach. Kallie would probably beat the crap out of him if he put her cousin in the hospital. “I know I hurt her. Dammit, Masterson, I want to make it right.” He scowled. “If I can get her to listen to me. Is your whole family pigheaded?”

  “Yes.” Masterson hadn’t moved, still in fighting stance. “Make it right how?”

  “Whatever it takes.” Jake fingered his throbbing jaw. “Nice punch, you asshole. I love her, you know.” The words slipped out and stunned him into silence. What the hell? Yet the undeniable rightness flooded through him—and then slammed him hard enough that he felt as if he’d taken a .44 Magnum in the chest. “Damn,” he said, and the curse came out sounding like the wheeze of an old geezer.

  Masterson huffed a laugh. “I bet that hurt more than my fists.”

  No shit. Jake slumped against the side of the pickup next to the cop. “It did, you bastard. And I figure I’ll hurt a lot more before she’s through.”

  “Hunt, she’s going to rip you to mincemeat and leave you bleeding in the dirt.” The cop appeared pretty damned happy about that.

  Jake swiped the blood from his mouth. “Thanks a lot. Now if you’ll let me—”

  “Nope.”

  “What?”

  “Sorry, but the chief wants to see you now.” The cop nodded toward the station, then glanced up at the darkening sky. “Besides, Kallie might well spend the night in her special spot by the creek while she calls you every filthy name in her vocabulary. Best if you give her till morning to cool off.”

  Wait until morning? Far too long. Jake considered. He had a flashlight in the truck, and he’d hiked trails in the dark before. “You only have the one trail, right? Just to the west of your cabin?”

  Masterson frowned and then nodded.

  “How do I find this place?”

  The cop crossed his arms over his chest. “You’ll come and answer questions first.”

  “Deal.”

  “Her retreat is by a creek. About half a mile up the trail. Watch the left-hand side for her name marked in white stones. A tiny path leads downhill to the stream.” Masterson frowned. “You know I still don’t like your…hobby.”

  “Didn’t ask your opinion.” Jake rubbed his aching ribs. “If you want mine: anyone using the missionary position twice in a row should serve time.”

  Masterson choked on a laugh.

  * * *

  The bitch. He should never have let her live. Now see what had happened—her evil had spewed over two good men, two brothers, until they came to blows in the street. And Hunt planned to crawl back to her. Even after the men had left, the cop’s words rang in his ears: “…Leave you bleeding in the dirt.”

  His stomach heaved, and he fled into the store, barely making it to the small bathroom in the rear before everything spilled out of him. He vomited over and over, his stomach in knots. Fear slimed his skin. Had he taken in some of her evil?

  Eventually the sickness passed. After, he wiped his mouth and used a paper towel to wash the sweat from his face. His hands shook as if he had Parkinson’s like old Gus, and terr
or halted his breath. Was he dying now? Deliberately poisoned by demons so he couldn’t complete his duty.

  He couldn’t let them win. He exhaled slowly, forcing calmness, and the trembling slowed. Poison hadn’t caused his sickness then. He shook his head at his weakness that had let his past overwhelm him. Seeing the fight had brought it all back.

  Ugly memories… Even after he realized everything was her fault, that she was evil, he’d still crawled back to Gloria one last time—after so many times—and begged her to return to him. Crying, he’d touched her silky, black hair.

  She’d laughed at him. Her dark eyes had flashed, filled with malice. Her voice had cut through him, tearing pieces of his soul away with each word. “You’re such a loser. You can’t even get it up. Bug off and leave me alone.”

  She’d started to turn away as if he were nothing, and then…right then he’d seen his first demon. How it appeared in her eyes and reveled at his pain. His hand had risen—by itself, not under his control—and his fist had hit her over and over. The shrieks of the dying demon scraped across his ears until he thought he’d die from the pain. But when the evil had died, the silence had filled him with power until he felt invincible.

  And he had been a man again.

  With the memory of how he had hardened, how he had taken a man’s due, strength flooded through him. The shaking disappeared. He examined his hands—big hands and strong, capable of doing what must be done. He rose to his feet.

  Andrew wiped the sink and the toilet, leaving the bathroom clean and tidy. He closed the door. As he walked out into the gray twilight, he noticed the remainder of the pallets sitting on the boardwalk. He should finish his work here. But urgency pulsed like a drum within him.

  He should never have left her alive, there on that deserted road. And because of his uncertainty, his weakness, she had destroyed a brother.

  But she would be alone now…right now. Holed up in her special area, she’d undoubtedly gloat over her victim, while evil surrounded her and covered the forests with filth. He couldn’t wait; he needed to act now. That was his job.

  He stepped around the stacks and got into his truck, turning on the headlights as darkness spilled down the mountain.

  * * *

  Jake had never visited the Bear Flat police station before, and he wasn’t much impressed. The place appeared even smaller than the main room at Serenity. One puny-sized room with a table in the center and a couple of desks shoved into corners. Bulletin board, whiteboard for scheduling, phones everywhere. The chief of police had an office the size of an outhouse.

  In there, Jake impatiently answered the questions put to him by Chief Jackson and Masterson. When had he seen Mimi last? Did she talk about Whipple?

  Had she ever looked hurt?

  “Only once,” he answered the tall, gaunt chief. “When she broke up with Whipple, he smacked her around.” Jake’s jaw tensed as he remembered the bruises on her smooth skin, her swollen lip and black eye.

  “Knowing you, I’m surprised you let that pass,” Masterson said from his position by the door.

  Jake kept his trap shut. Tell a cop that he’d beat the hell out of a local citizen? Nope.

  Amusement glinted in Masterson’s eyes.

  “A couple more questions, Hunt, and I’ll let you go,” Jackson said. “When Mimi—”

  “Chief.” A cop who looked too young to even drive came in. “Sorry, Chief. Appears the only thing we can charge Whipple with is being coked up, and he even admitted that. Seems to think snorting cocaine helps him be more…assertive…with women.” He grimaced in disgust and handed the captain two sets of papers. “Unfortunately he has a strong alibi for one of the murders.”

  The chief flipped through one set of papers, and his mouth flattened into a thin line. “Give him a warning—a serious one. And spring him.”

  As the cop left, leaving the door open behind him, Chief Jackson told Masterson, “He was best man at a college roommate’s wedding. The family confirmed and faxed photos as well.”

  Masterson scowled. “He might have slipped out and done it, then gone back.”

  “The wedding happened in New York,” Jackson said in a dry voice.

  “Dammit!” Masterson slammed the wall with an open hand. He bowed his head for a second and then straightened. “All right. On to the next one.”

  “Hold up a minute.” The chief scanned the other set of papers and frowned. “New information from the sheriff’s department. Says they correlated information from the victim’s families and friends.” The chief pinched the bridge of his nose. “All the victims argued with a boyfriend or husband the day they disappeared. Nasty fights. In public.”

  “Wait a minute,” Jake said. “You’re saying the murderer killed them because of a fight? With someone else?”

  “Could be. Serial killers exist in a different reality, and they’ll kill for the damnedest reasons.” Chief Jackson tilted his head. “So, Hunt, did you ever fight with Mimi in public?”

  “Never.”

  “I did.” David Whipple appeared in the doorway. A sheen of sweat coated his pale face. He curled his hand around the door frame, and the knuckles turned white. “In my store. After she and Hunt broke up.” Anger darkened his face, then disappeared as his eyes pooled with tears. “I wanted her back. I even begged.”

  Jake felt a moment of sympathy.

  “She said no. She said she was moving to San Francisco. I yelled at her.” Whipple wiped his sleeve over his eyes. “I called her a bitch. I never thought—”

  “Who else was in the store, David?” Masterson asked softly. “Can you remember?”

  Whipple leaned against the door, his balance obviously unsteady. “Yeah. I was embarrassed they’d heard me lose it. There were a couple of loggers. But I know them—they’re gay.”

  The chief shook his head. “Probably not them. The victims were sexually violated after death.”

  The sickening information hit Jake like a battering ram to the chest. Not Mimi. Masterson’s hand on his shoulder returned him to reality—a worse reality than before.

  “Anyone else?” the chief asked Whipple.

  “Those were the only men. A female firefighter. Mrs. Anderson. Samantha—she’d have been about ten.” He frowned. “Oh, the soft-drink supplier—Andrew—was in the back, finishing a delivery.”

  Andrew Secrist? The air left Jake’s lungs in an explosive gust. Secrist had watched him and Masterson fight. A fight.

  He slammed out of the station so hard the door banged off the wall. Thudding footsteps sounded behind him. He skidded to a stop in front of the grocery, and Masterson halted beside him.

  Even as fear blasted into Jake, he heard Masterson curse.

  Under the dim glow of a streetlight, stacks of soft drinks still sat on the boardwalk. The delivery truck was gone.

  Chapter Twelve

  Unable to find any appetite, Kallie leaned against a log by her small fire. The low song of the wind in the high pine branches, the crackle of the burning wood, the gurgle of the stream comforted her—and yet increased her loneliness. She remembered other evenings when Jake’s deep laugh had added to the wilderness melodies. Like two nights ago, they’d sat so close together that his shoulder had rubbed against hers as he fed another stick to the campfire. When she’d shivered from cold, he had pulled her closer, warming her with the heat of his body.

  She tossed a pinecone into the flames and listened to the snapping sound as the seeds ignited, as all their potential burned to ash. Seemed about right.

  Her heart ached like a torn muscle, and she had only herself to blame. Even knowing he wouldn’t stay, she’d still gone ahead. Just like Serena’s favorite chick flicks—the ones where the woman’s friends had warned her and she still headed straight for disaster. Kallie had always wanted to slap the heroine upside the head and tell her not to be a total moron.

  Moron, here.

  At least she knew when to cut her losses. Even if he got down on his knees and begged, she’d
never have anything to do with him again. Not that he’d want her to. All he’d said earlier was, “Kalinda, I’m sorry.” Of course he was. Of course he felt bad for hurting her because, despite being a cowardly asshole, he was wonderful, caring, strong, smart, and…

  With a snort of disgust, she wiped her eyes. Could she get any more maudlin? Yes, it hurts. Get over it and move on.

  She picked up her whittling knife, pulled her current project out of her pack, and winced as she saw the carved figure of Jake. She should have taken time to find something else.

  Well, maybe she’d just whittle a few pieces off him. But the thought gave her a pang. As she worked, the need to concentrate lent her peace. She carefully added the hair that hung over his face and hid his scar. Then an ear.