by Herron, Rita
“This will make you strong. You must pass the test.”
Pass it or die. The man hadn’t said it, but Zack understood.
The banshees were screaming again. Singing their song of death. Laughing at the little boys who refused to give in.
The shrill sound was so loud, Zack thought his eardrums would explode.
Great loud shrieks that sounded as if the banshee was in pain.
Or was that her tearing out the heart of another lost one?
There were so many. The little boys wandered the endless halls in his mind. Crept in the side doors in the dark.
Turned into monsters before his eyes.
Just like the one who lived in his head.
“Help me,” he whispered to the boy. “Please, help me.”
But the boy was so far away he didn’t know if it would do any good.
Chapter Fourteen
Snow turned to sleet, slashing at John as he searched the woman’s car and purse and found an ID. He brought it to Lieutenant Maddison. “The woman’s name is Deanna Jayne. She was thirty-eight.”
Maddison used his tablet and plugged her name into the databases. “She was a single mother of a fifteen-year-old girl. Her husband’s in prison for spousal abuse.”
“The reason she joined the network,” John concluded.
“She has a sister,” Maddison said. “Hopefully she’ll take the daughter and raise her.”
Amelia sighed, and tugged her hood over her head. Already snowflakes dotted her hair, and she was shivering from the cold. “Now her fifteen-year-old daughter is motherless. All because she tried to help me.”
“Stop,” John said softly. “The woman knew the dangers. She chose to join this group and chose to help you.”
A CSI approached with the woman’s cell phone. “I’ll take this to the lab and see what we get off of it.”
“This information has to remain confidential,” John said. “We don’t want to endanger the women and children the group is trying to protect.”
“I understand,” Maddison said. “We’ll analyze her phone records, incoming and outgoing, and I’ll speak with Sister Grace to verify who’s in the program before we step on any toes.”
A CSI held up an evidence bag. “Looks like the shooter used a forty-five-caliber gun.”
The type of weapon a professional might use, not a street gun.
“Any other forensics?” John asked.
“We’re still looking,” the CSI said. “So far the only prints on the car are the woman’s.”
Damn. He doubted they’d get much from the burned vehicle either.
“We found three shotgun slugs,” another CSI said.
Maddison turned to Amelia. “I’ll need that shotgun for comparison.”
“I’ll get it.” John headed back to his SUV to drive Amelia to her car so he could retrieve the shotgun. His phone buzzed, and he frowned. It was almost one a.m.
Father Hallard’s number appeared.
He quickly connected the call. “Father Hallard.”
“Have you heard from Sister Grace?”
“No. Why?”
“Because she’s gone.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes,” Father Hallard said. “She left a note saying not to look for her, that it was safer if we let her go.”
“She’s on the run,” John said. Which meant she might know more than she’d told them.
And she was afraid talking to them would get her killed.
Sleet hammered the trees and ground, stinging her cheeks. Amelia couldn’t erase the image of the dead woman from her mind. The blood on her forehead . . .
Her poor daughter . . .
John looked troubled as he ended the call. “Sister Grace left town.”
A sliver of fear trickled through Amelia. This other woman had been murdered, and now Sister Grace was gone . . . “Is she okay?”
“Father Hallard said she left a note saying not to look for her, that it was safer that way.”
Amelia’s heart pounded. “She’s scared. She knew it was dangerous helping me.”
“But she did it because she obviously believed you deserved to find your baby.”
Still, emotions thickened Amelia’s throat. Needing something to do with her hands, she fiddled with the buttons on her coat. “Then she thinks something bad happened to him.”
John cut her a sideways look. “Maybe. Maybe not.” They dodged falling twigs and hail as they rushed to his SUV. John drove to her car and retrieved her shotgun, then gave it to the CSI. Another team had shown up along with a tow truck to check out the burning vehicle and the driver before processing and clearing the wreckage.
“That gun belonged to my grandfather,” Amelia said. She had very few things of his left. Most had burned in the house fire.
“I’ll get it back for you after CSI finishes,” John said.
John caught her hand, heat charging through her. “I’m going to follow you home and make sure you’re safe.”
Amelia swallowed hard. She wanted to argue that she was fine on her own, but she still hadn’t told him about the intruder taunting her with her alters.
Besides, his gravelly low voice sent a shimmer of longing and awareness through her. She wanted to reach out and hold his hand, to hang on to him and ask him to stay the night with her.
But he was a professional working a case, not a man interested in her personally.
And she had too much baggage to expect any man to love her.
John followed Amelia back to the guesthouse on the farm listening to the news as he drove. The sleet storm was predicted to last through the next day.
“Roads are hazardous. Please stay home if you don’t have to travel.”
Right. He’d tuck in and make cocoa with Amelia and they’d stay in bed all day.
His chest clenched. Where had that thought come from?
The images that flashed in his head were so erotic and tender that his body hardened.
Dammit. Staying in bed and making love to Amelia was not an option.
The SUV churned through the layers of snow and ice on the drive, but he made it to the end and parked. The charred remains of the old farmhouse reminded him that danger had surrounded Amelia all her life.
He would make sure the danger ended.
She parked in front of the cottage, and he scanned the perimeter, searching for an intruder or someone who might be waiting to ambush her.
Hopefully CSI would pinpoint evidence on the shooter and find his motive.
Amelia rubbed her gloved hands together and ran up the path to her front door. She paused on the doorstep, her gaze searching the property.
His instincts climbed a notch, and he slogged through the sludge and met her on the stoop. The keys jangled in her shaking hands, and he took them from her. Her hands were shaking so badly he was tempted to cradle them between his own and rub them until they warmed.
But he couldn’t touch her. If he did, he might forget his resolve to remain professional.
“Let me search inside,” he said softly.
She nodded and let him open the door.
When he stepped inside and she flipped on a light, he immediately noticed the paintings against the wall. Dark, sinister canvases filled with blacks and reds, traumatic memories of what she’d endured at the sanitarium.
Some depicted Amelia and her twin as children who were close, yet in some instances so far apart that a canyon literally yawned between them.
One twin in the darkness, one twin in the light.
He quickly searched the interior for an intruder. The living area and kitchen were clear.
The homemade quilt on the bed made his chest tighten, and suddenly he saw the two of them tangled in the sheets together making love.
Heat spe
ared him as the images continued. He kissed Amelia, stripped her naked, and pounded himself inside her until they were both lost in each other.
When he looked up at her, her eyes were luminous with emotions. Fear. Hunger. Desire.
Amelia was the most vulnerable-looking woman he’d ever met. Yet the strongest and most beautiful as well.
She had a depth to her eyes and spirit born from pain and loneliness and the will to survive.
A loneliness that called out to him from the far reaches of his own lost soul.
He could take lessons from her when it came to strength and courage. She had faced her demons, had undergone therapy to deal with them so she could be whole.
While he’d taken the coward’s way out. Sure he was trying to redeem himself with good acts. But he hadn’t faced his past, had been running from it, running from himself, too afraid of what he might find.
She lifted a hand and pressed it to his jaw, and his knees nearly caved. God, he wanted her.
Overcome with raw need, he pulled her into his arms and fused his mouth with hers. Hunger shot through him, making his body burn with desire as she parted her lips in invitation and threaded her fingers through his hair.
She tasted sweet and passionate and so lonely that she stirred his passion and filled the empty holes in his own troubled soul. She moaned and pulled him closer, rubbing her foot along his calf.
His body went rock hard, his cock pulsing with an ache to be inside her.
He groaned, hunger surging through him as she ran her hands down his back and over his ass.
Their tongues danced together, firing the raw desire raging through him, and he backed her toward the bed.
But just as he laid her down and her hair fanned across the pillow, another image interceded.
He was dressed in a military uniform, pacing beside a cell.
Children were crying somewhere, screaming that they needed help.
He had to get to them, save them. Then he looked down and he was holding a gun, guarding the place where they were being held.
The storm raged outside, but Amelia blocked it out as John’s kiss swept her into a mindless world of pleasure. She raked her hands down his back, willing him closer, desperate to have him undress and to feel his naked skin against hers.
Her nipples beaded to stiff peaks, aching for his mouth, and titillating sensations skated through her as he probed her lips apart with his tongue. She yearned to run her tongue along his torso and down his abdomen to the sexual promises below his belt.
His hands, his touch, his mouth, his body—it all felt so familiar. So right.
Had they been together before? If so, why didn’t she remember it? Why hadn’t he mentioned it?
He growled low in his throat, then suddenly pushed away from her, his eyes flaring with emotions she didn’t recognize. Their erratic breathing reverberated in the air between them, his eyes stormy with passion.
Yet his jaw was clamped shut, his mouth set in a grim line.
“That was a mistake.”
Hurt speared her. “Why? Because you think I’m not stable?”
“I didn’t say that.”
She reached for him again, her body throbbing for release. “Then why is it wrong? You can’t deny the heat between us.”
“No, but it’s just the moment. You could have been killed tonight,” he said gruffly. “Adrenaline makes people reach out for comfort from whoever’s closest.”
Anger mounted on top of the hurt. “So you think I’d just jump in bed with anyone?”
He squeezed the bridge of his nose with two fingers, then cursed. “That’s not what I meant. But I can’t . . . I won’t take advantage of you.”
A cold hardness darkened his features, and he backed toward the door, boots clicking on the wood floor.
“Get some sleep. We’ll visit The Gateway House tomorrow.”
Pride made Amelia lash out. She’d been cast aside so many times in her life, rejected time and time again. Why couldn’t he just love her?
Why couldn’t anyone?
She jutted up her chin. “I can go by myself.”
John shook his head firmly. “Not after what happened tonight.”
Without another word, he stalked out of the room. The door slammed behind him with a thud.
Amelia winced, feeling suddenly bereft and so alone she wanted to cry. She missed him already, missed the warmth of his hands and the strength she saw in his eyes.
Missed having him by her side giving her hope that she might one day have a normal life.
Was her memory playing tricks on her? He’d felt so familiar . . . Had they known each other before? Or was she simply fantasizing about something she could never have?
Too nervous to sleep, she slipped on her pajamas and skimmed through more journal entries, searching for any clue about her child and the baby’s father.
Her frenetic sex with Six taunted her. Had she given birth to Six’s son?
No . . . Dear God, she didn’t want to believe her son’s father was a serial killer.
The night looked dark and bleak as he stared across the mountains. Cold air swirled around him, making his leg throb. He rubbed it, the sleet banging against the roof taking him back to his childhood. To that bat swinging down toward him.
He heard the bone crack. He screamed, pain knifing through him.
The bat came down again.
He had tried to run but collapsed onto the icy ground and screamed in agony. The sleet pelted him, stinging like sharp needles, the moisture soaking him and chilling him from the inside out.
Tears ran down his face, freezing on his cheeks. He lifted his head and spotted a cave a few feet away. It would be warmer inside.
If he could make it inside . . .
But the few feet might as well have been miles.
He clawed at the ground, dragging himself across the ice. By the time he reached the entrance, he was out of breath, writhing in pain. He dropped his face into the snow and tasted blood and dirt and ice.
The memory faded, and he gritted his teeth to banish it. He had survived. And he was stronger now.
A man because of the harsh lessons he’d learned. Just as he would turn his own boys into men.
They had to be taught the hard way, too.
Now he had to get rid of Ronnie Tillman. The kid was trouble all the way around.
He would never meet the criteria.
But he would find another to take his place. And they would soldier on.
Chapter Fifteen
The ticking of the clock bellowed in the room and woke Amelia. Winter raged on outside, painting the sky a steel gray, the bare limbs rattling in the wind.
Still shaken by the shooting the night before, she forced herself to start her day. She brewed some coffee, then settled on the couch to study the journal entries. Outside more snow fell, huge flakes clinging to the tree limbs, making the backyard and woods a winter wonderland.
Yet nothing looked beautiful today because she kept seeing that woman’s blood everywhere.
Desperate to banish the images, she turned back to the journal and found vignettes of Viola’s sexual escapades with strangers.
Sex with men she hooked up with at bars. Men on the street. At a coffee shop. With orderlies at the hospital.
Viola had been extremely promiscuous. Some of the sex bordered on S and M. Viola liked bondage, liked to be spanked, liked it rough.
But one entry caught her attention:
Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.
I whispered the words in the man’s ear, begging him to take me harder and faster.
He shoved my skirt up, pushed me against the alley wall, and slammed himself inside me. I wrapped my legs around him and groaned as sensations rocked through me.
“You are all sweetness,” the man murm
ured as he tore my shirt off, tugged one nipple into his mouth, and sucked me hard. Need spiraled down to my womb. Erotic sensations pummeled me, and I pulled him tighter, gripping his ass with my hands as he drove me crazy with his cock.
As soon as he finished, he adjusted his clothing and went his way.
That was fine with me. No attachments. No fuss. No demands.
Now if only I could keep Amelia from showing up and ruining it all. I don’t think she likes men.
Except for that weirdo she hung out with at the sanitarium. Six.
Loser.
And when she was locked up, she flirted with one of the guards. He was supposed to keep her in line, make sure she didn’t escape, that she obeyed.
I tried to hook up with him, but Amelia pushed me away.
I don’t know his name, but one night she snuck out of her room and screwed him in the closet. Then the Commander caught them . . .
Shame and guilt choked Amelia. Maybe one of the men Viola had bedded had gotten her pregnant . . .
Or . . . the guard Amelia had had an affair with.
Who was he?
She rubbed her temple and closed her eyes, struggling to remember, but those days were a blur.
She flipped a few more pages and found an entry by Bessie, the little girl who represented the innocent child she’d been before the Commander had traumatized her.
Instead of words, Bessie had drawn a picture of her and Amelia, and Amelia had a belly bulge. Bessie had captured Amelia during the pregnancy.
Did she know who the father of her baby was?
Dr. Clover had said RMT might help her. Through it, she might learn the father’s name.
A cold sweat broke out over her, and she struggled to breathe as a panic attack threatened. No . . . she didn’t need to know the baby’s father’s name.
All she needed to know was that she had a son, and when she found him, she’d make sure he knew she loved him.
When John got up the next morning, he was still shaken by his reaction to Amelia. In the past six years, he’d shut himself off from getting involved with a woman, rationalizing he couldn’t have a relationship because of his job and his fears of what he’d done.
