Joselyn nodded to herself. "I knew they were out of town and had a sitter. I think I may have seen him a few times but never close. He's an older man, in his fifties with gray hair and a dark complexion with some sort of a beard I think? "
"Yeah, it's the same description we got. According to Progue, they came home and found him asleep. He was on the floor of his room." He hesitated a minute. "River, don't lose your cool."
Maddox's eyes had a hard gleam and his jaw was clenched. "Say it," he ground out.
Detective Jameson spewed the words out so fast, Joselyn could barely understand. "Snowden was naked in a pile of photographs of Joselyn."
Joselyn was so shocked she didn't even react to the string of profanity spewing from Maddox's lips. He hit the steering wheel several times with his fist and threw his head back on the headrest. "The bastard was right there inside the gate the whole time! Right there!" He thrust his fingers through his hair. "Please tell me you got him?"
"No, he was long gone; probably left the night they got home. Progue said they woke him and tried to throw him out of the house. Instead, he pulled a knife on them and forced them to the basement. Forensics went over there and checked the house but it was cleaned. We did catch a break and lifted a partial right index from a door facing. We were able to get a match."
"Let me guess. Donavan freaking Beecher."
There was an ominous pause and Bull swore softly. "No, it's not Beecher." He hesitated a minute and continued. "Joselyn was right all along. Her stalker is Douglas McClane."
Chapter 23
How was it even possible?
River paced back and forth in the living room, trying to wrap his brain around the improbable reality of Bull's information bomb this afternoon. By the time the police had cleared the area, leaving the Progue's house draped in yellow crime scene tape, the identity of their house sitter and his connection to Joselyn had made its rounds through the neighborhood. Several of her neighbors had come over, hoping for some juicy gossip and asking a thousand questions. Sam was heartbroken and apologized profusely for his 'assistance' in helping McClane find her in Mississippi. True to Joselyn's nature, she forgave him instantly. McClane was a master at manipulation and she couldn't blame Sam for falling for his lies. River, on the other hand, was not so generous. Intentional or not, Sam's actions had put Joselyn and River's family in jeopardy. It had taken all of his resolve to not throttle the man where he stood.
He thought about the still photograph captured from the Progue's security cameras Bull had shown them. The picture held almost no resemblance to the man featured in the pictures during his trial. His frame was much bulkier now with the addition of lots of lean muscle. His normally pale complexion had turned a dark tan. Colored contacts changed his hazel eyes to a vivid green and the mustache and goatee made his face look longer. River stopped his pacing, placed his hands on the door and leaned forward until his head rested between his hands. Slowly he hit his forehead on the door but not enough to hurt. The last thing he needed was to knock himself out and leave Joselyn vulnerable. A pair of arms circled his waist, and a warm presence pressed against his back. Placing his large hand on her smaller one, he squeezed it reassuringly.
"There wasn't anything you could do," she said against his back.
"I was so focused on making sure he wasn't getting in, it never occurred to me he already was. This kind of Charlie Foxtrot is what gets people killed."
She shook her head against his back. "This isn't a SEAL mission, Maddox. This isn't a team of six men working together to watch each other's backs. This is one man, one single person taxed with keeping both of us safe. You couldn't have known. My Lord, I waved at the man a half a dozen times and never even knew who he was. I sat there in the courtroom and I stared at his face every day for three and a half weeks. At least you hadn't seen him before so you have an excuse. I don't. If anyone is to blame here, it's me."
He whirled around and wrapped his arms around her. "You aren't to blame, honey. Everyone insisted McClane was dead but you didn't believe it. For weeks, you were adamant the man stalking you was McClane. You didn't change your mind about it until the possibility of Beecher was thrust in your face." He cupped her cheek and pressed his lips to her forehead. "You are innocent here."
She started to argue but he stopped her with a chaste kiss on her lips. "I'm going to do a sweep of the grounds." He released her. "It's been a long day. I know it's getting late but Giovanni's is still open. How about we call in an order and afterward I'll show you how to clean Betty? Don't think I've forgotten about her."
The laugh erupting from her lips lifted his heart. "Alright, Mr. Bodyguard. I'm going to answer some emails after I call in our order. The usual?"
"Yeah, sounds good," he said as she stepped out of his arms and turned.
With a smack on her tush, he growled at her. "Temptress."
She stopped, glanced over her shoulder and wiggled her butt. The growl became louder. "I'm a saint, I'm a saint," he whispered and winked at her.
She laughed aloud and disappeared through the office door.
Since he knew McClane could get in at any time, he made sure to arm the alarm even when he did perimeter sweeps. He didn't want to take any chances. Closing the front door, he heard the arming chirp and turned toward the right. Stepping off the porch, he made his way toward the pergola and it's vine covered depths. Stopping outside the structure, he frowned. The motion sensors should have detected his movements and flooded the little corner with light. Taking a step back he waved his arms and stepped forward again. Still no lights.
The hair on the back of his neck stood up and a knot formed in the bottom of his stomach. Something wasn't right. Drawing his firearm, finger on the safety, he worked his way around the structure until his back was flushed against the high wall surrounding her property. Making his way silently along the wall, he carefully peered into the inky blackness engulfing this corner of the yard. Raising his pistol, he waited for a movement.
When it came, the attack wasn't from the front or back. Instead, something whipped over his head and around his neck. Years of training kicked in as River's hand went up to work his fingers between the rapidly closing cord and his neck. The other hand, the one still grasping his firearm, raised to shoot the dark shadow crouched low on the wall. A kick sent his SIG flying into the pergola so he made a grab for the man pulling the rope in an attempt to strangle him.
Lights danced around his peripheral vision as oxygen was cut off. Gasping, River's reaching fingers fought for the rope in his assailant's hand. He knew if he didn't get control soon, he wouldn't have enough strength to get out of this. He grunted as something hard slammed into the side of his head. The sparkling lights brightened and began to dim. Bracing his feet on the wall, he shoved hard in an attempt to pull McClane from the top. The rope tightened more until he was afraid his fingers would be severed. The second kick to his temple was harder than the first. Between the blows and his rapidly diminishing air, River knew he wasn't going to make it. The last thing crossing his mind was he had once again failed Joselyn and it pissed him off. She was going to die tonight and there was nothing he could do to stop it.
Dinner ordered, Joselyn worked her way through the hundreds of spam messages in her email box. Mumbling to herself, she clicked on several at a time and the delete button. "I don't need pharmaceuticals, my mortgage rate is fine and there's no way I'm helping some random guy get his lottery winnings." She snorted. "As if."
The remaining messages were easily sorted into one of several folders. She insisted on being organized and neat so she made it a habit of sorting them before she started to read. This way, nothing got lost. Starting with the first folder labeled "FANS", she opened the top one and started to read.
After a few minutes in, she heard the door close and the chirp of the alarm. "Hey Maddox, come here. I want you to see this drawing from one of my fans. She's only sixteen and did a great job," she called out over her shoulder. "It's exactly how what
I envisioned John and Deidre to look."
She heard him enter the room and scooted back so he could look at her screen. Glancing up, the color drained from her face and she froze at the sight of the hooded figure watching her from the doorway. Leaning against the facing with one foot crossed casually over the other, stood a man dressed in black pants and matching long sleeve shirt. A pair of dark boots with something wet and shiny on one heel covered his feet. Reaching for his head, he pushed a ski mask off his face, revealing a maniacal smile. He casually shoved the mask into his pocket. Lifting his leather gloved hand, he saluted her with two fingers.
"Hello, Little Rose."
She screamed.
Chapter 24
Douglas McClane sat on the edge of her bed, his legs crossed in a pose of utter relaxation. Flicking the blade in his fingers, he watched her as she balked at his command to don the purple dress from the trial. Instead, her gaze jumped between the clock by her bed and the doorway.
"I know what you're thinking. You believe your soldier will arrive, to rescue the princess from the evil clutches of the villain. I'm sorry to have to inform you. That isn't this story. I often told my students fairy tales are useless. They teach us nothing but lies and false hopes, though the original Grimm is a bit more realistic. Modern society has sweetened the stories and removed their bite... but I digress. "He stood and stalked toward her, taking her arm and lead her to the window. Pushing the curtain aside, he grabbed her chin and pointed her face toward the corner garden. "I never thought I would appreciate climbing ivy in my garden but he makes an elegant augmentation, don't you think?"
The corner was dark, thanks to his quick work with the flood lights but one could still make out the dark shadow hanging limply from the iron wall cap and to the left of the pergola. He could tell the moment she understood what she was viewing. Her eyes grew wide and her lips parted. "Maddox," she screamed and pushed against him. In a quick action, he brought the knife to her neck. Grabbing a fist full of her hair, he yanked her back from the window. As she stilled, he snarled, "Don't try it again. You keep quiet, obey me and I will stop my garden with you. Give me any more trouble, I'll be including a Magnolia, a Lily and a Daisy."
She stilled instantly and he let her go. Motioning toward the purple draped chair, he barked at her, "Dress," and resumed his post at the foot of her bed.
His eyes feasted on the nubile form of his prey as she tugged the garment over her head. It was almost a shame to cover the magnificent body he had stripped earlier but there were rules to every game. First, she must be dressed properly. There would be enough time for undressing later.
As her face emerged from the sweetheart collar, his breath hitched when he saw the dewy trails spilling across her pale cheeks. He watched in fascination as her pink lips trembled with each frantic breath. He closed his eyes with a moan. Her terror was better than the most succulent of meals. It fed his soul until he was almost giddy and drunk on it. Of all the fragile blossoms in his garden, his beautiful, delicate rose was the most exquisite of them all. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the way her breasts lifted as she pulled the back upward slightly to reach the zipper and tug it closed. He licked his lips in anticipation of feasting on those globes flavored with salty tears and the coppery tang of blood.
With the dress in place, he made a circle with his finger, indicating she should turn so he could take in every inch of the vision which had haunted him for years. With her revolution completed, he frowned and shook his head. "Your hair isn't proper. Put it up with the purple barrette, the one in your second drawer on the right side. "
She did as he bade her, piling her blonde tresses on top of her head and securing them with the clip. Once it was done, he beckoned her over. She shook her head and took a step back.
Snarling, he leaped to his feet. "Obey me, Little Rose or the reaping will be excruciatingly painful. Don't forget there are other blossoms at stake here." The whimper escaping her lips was music to his soul. Crooking his finger again, he said, "Come here."
Slowly she made her way over until she stood in front of him. Reaching over, he touched her cheek, causing her to flinch and shut her eyes tightly. He frowned again. "Perhaps I was wrong. In this attire you favor the shrinking violet instead of a rose," he whispered. He shook his head to clear such foolishness from his mind. "No, karma has spoken. You are the rose, the magnificent apex of my work." Taking her hand in his, he pulled her back to the bed and again sat. Pointing to the floor between his feet, he commanded her. "Sit."
Doing as he said, she dropped to her knees and closed her eyes. He watched as she took a breath and held it. So stunning but not quite correct. He nudged her knees to the side. "Be graceful, elegant. Lounge artfully." He watched her hungrily as she dropped to sit on her left hip, her feet curled beside her right side. "Yes, much better. Hands, folded in your lap. That's it. Perfection."
He sat back, his eyes taking in the lovely sight resting before him. With a nod, he cocked his head to the side. "I have touched the Morning Glory, felt the silken petals of the Dahlia. The fire of the Zinnia and the sweet soft blush of the Camellia were mine to sample. Even the exotic Lotus and the mighty Acacia have entertained my gaze but none have come close to the exquisite excellence of you, my beautiful Rose." He reached forward and caressed her cheek. She whimpered again and drew back. Anger flared in him. "This is your last warning. Draw away again and others will suffer the consequences." He grabbed her neck in his hand and pulled her forward until he could feel the fan of her breath on his face. "Do you hear my words, Little Rose?"
Hastily, she nodded.
He let her go with a smile. "Since we are discussing fables, and you are an author, I'll tell you a special story. I'll call this, 'The Viewing'. When first I saw you sitting there in the jury box on the inaugural day of my trial, I felt such urges well in my soul, urges I thought had withered away like leaves when kissed by winter. With a single glance, I was enraptured. Once again, I craved to tend my garden. As each day waxed and waned, I watched you, so regal and strong, absorbing everything around you." He paused as he eyes raked over her again. "I admit it took me a while to understand you. I thought at first you were the Sunflower, tall and strong, basking in the glory of Apollo's countenance. But several days later something was said - I forget exactly what but your face bloomed into the most breathtaking smile and I glimpsed the rose hidden beneath." He sat back and regarded her. "I had six perfect blossoms in my garden and was searching for the seventh. Imagine my joy in discovering you there, sitting so primly in the seventh seat of the jury box. It was kismet. My seventh flower in the seventh chair." He stood and walked over behind her. Crouching, he ran a finger over her bare neck. "Seven is a special number for me and my family. Mother's name was Beverly and her twin, my Aunt Breanna. Mother married Gilbert McClane and Breanna chose Terrell Beecher. Do you see the sevens? Each name contains exactly seven letters." He leaned in closer. "Douglas is seven, my brother, Donavan is seven. Your name, Joselyn Kendrik, is another pair of sevens. I confess for a moment, I entertained the thought of wooing you instead of reaping but you chose another." Anger forced his words to sound harsh even to his own ears. "You let a filthy soldier defile that which is mine. It makes me angry to think of him touching you."
Her eyes widen and she wisely chose to change the subject of her infidelity. "Your brother?" she croaked out in a husky whisper.
He sat on the bed. "Yes, Donavan was my brother. He was not my cousin as most people think. Wait, I should qualify the statement. He was my cousin and my brother. I shall tell you an obscure fact, a personal family secret. My Uncle Terrell was unable to produce issue. When Aunt Breanna discovered this, she knew she could not stay with him. It had been her desire to have a large family. Seven children were her goal -alternating boys and girls. She and Mother would become pregnant together, have children together and raise them together. The problem, though, was my mother was already pregnant with me. In order for Breanna to divorce Terrell and discover another
man with a seven letter name, it would take too much precious time. So the four of them came to a conclusion. It was brilliant, a truly masterful idea. My father impregnated Breanna. Unlike Terrell, his seed was potent. Unfortunately, Donavan and I were the only children as neither were able to conceive again. However, since my father's seed produced both children, my cousin is also my brother." His face clouded. "And he was taken from me." He picked up one of her shoes he had forced her to remove earlier and slammed it into the wall with enough force to leave a hole. He took a deep breath as if to calm himself and continued. "Donavan knew of my obsession with my garden, of course, he would. He knew everything about me just as I did about him. 'It's too dangerous to go place your gift. Let me do it.'" McClane shook his head sadly. "When I heard the message on his answering machine telling him I had died and he would need to come identify the body, I knew such pain. Pain the likes of which I had never encountered before. Not even the agony of losing our parents so many years ago could come close to the emptiness of losing my brother. I managed to push the hollowness aside and realized this for the kismet it was. If I dared, I could use this horrible circumstance to complete my garden. Strange how fate works. I dressed in his clothes, marched right into the cold sterile room and agreed they had destroyed Douglas McClane. We looked so much alike. His face was... destroyed. It was easy to fool them." He chortled at the duplicity of the officials. "But enough with the history lessons." He stood again and took her hand, pulling her until she stood. Running his hands over her form, he schooled himself in patience and ignored the raging desire to rush and consume her. Instead, he turned her and focused on the zipper running the length of her back. A groan erupted at the sight. She was so ripe and ready. He had promised himself to go slow and enjoy this offering for his garden but it had taken too long to obtain her. His soul couldn't wait. His body couldn't wait. His blade resting on the bed couldn't wait. It was time to make her his. He moaned as he reached for the zipper. "So lovely," he whispered reverently.
Special Forces: Operation Alpha: Protecting Joselyn (Kindle Worlds) Page 17
