Dying for Love (A Slaughter Creek Novel)

by Herron, Rita

  He leaned on her as they hurried away from the fire. When they reached the SUV, she helped him into the driver’s seat.

  She ran around to the passenger side to retrieve her phone, but John was already calling a crime team by the time she got in.

  When he hung up, he called his partner. “That group was gone, Coulter. They must have known we were coming.”

  Amelia hugged her arms around her middle as the roof of the building collapsed with a roar. God help them. Was her little boy living with this group?

  John’s head throbbed, but he was too angry to give in to a migraine. He had to catch the son of a bitch who planted that bomb. If Amelia had followed him up to the house, she could have been hurt.

  Lieutenant Maddison met him at the edge of the blaze. “Did you see anyone when you arrived?”

  “No, no one. They must have gotten word that we were coming.”

  “How?”

  “I don’t know,” John said. “But see if you can find anything in that mess that will help us figure out where they’d go next.”

  “Another remote location,” Lieutenant Maddison said.

  “I’ll call Arianna and ask her to check the Internet chatter.”

  He left Amelia at the SUV and followed Maddison over to the rubble. The flames were starting to die down, wood still crackling as the embers continued to burn.

  Maddison stooped down to examine something, then looked up at John. “Looks like a homemade bomb. See this pipe? He probably filled it with gunpowder.”

  John turned and scanned the forests and ridges, wondering if the bomber had been watching. Was the explosion meant to kill him, or to hide evidence of the group?

  Amelia watched John, Lieutenant Maddison, and the other CSIs comb the area, collecting evidence. In spite of the fact that John had been knocked unconscious and still looked pale, he refused to allow her to call the medics for him.

  Lieutenant Maddison stepped aside to answer a phone call, then walked back to John and gestured toward her. Amelia tensed. Judging from the expression on his face, he had bad news.

  She steeled herself as they approached. “Ms. Nettleton,” Lieutenant Maddison said. “I got the DNA back from Davie Miller and Eddie Sweeny.”

  “And?”

  “Neither one of them matches your DNA.”

  Amelia exhaled, and John stroked her arm. “I’m sorry, Amelia.”

  “What about the Bayler boy?”

  “We don’t have those results yet.”

  John’s eyes darkened. “Sheriff Blackwood just called. Two bodies were found on Rocky Ridge.”

  Fear seized Amelia. “Children?”

  John shook his head. “No, a woman and man. I’m going there now.”

  Amelia nodded, then addressed Lieutenant Maddison. “Let me know as soon as you get those results.”

  Amelia followed John to the car, desperately trying to hold on to hope, but at every corner they were hitting a dead end.

  John veered onto another road that took them out of the isolated area where the camp had been. Then he wound down the mountain, tires grinding against the sand and icy pavement, slowing as they passed over the bridge and crossed Slaughter Creek.

  Amelia spotted Jake’s police car on the embankment as they approached the accident. John parked behind him, and they met Jake at the edge of the ridge. A team was already there, working to lift the couple from the ledge below while an ambulance waited to transport the bodies.

  She wrapped her scarf around her head to keep the wind from freezing her ears as she watched them work. The drop-off to the ridge was steep, the guardrail intact.

  Meaning they hadn’t gone over in their car. They could have jumped, but had probably been pushed.

  The rescue team laid the bodies on stretchers, and Jake leaned over the man’s corpse. Both bodies were stiff with rigor, although the frigid temperature had slowed decomposition

  “Gunshot wound to the back of the head,” Jake said after examining the man.

  John checked the woman, noting bruises on her wrists and arms. He angled her head sideways and pushed her hair back, gritting his teeth at the sight of the bullet hole in the center of the back of her head. “Same with the woman.”

  Jake dug in the man’s pocket, removed a wallet, and flipped it open. He muttered a curse as he read the man’s ID.

  “Eugene Bayler,” Jake said.

  The woman had no ID on her, but Jake found a photograph of the couple in the man’s wallet. Another picture showed the couple with the little boy they had adopted. Mark Bayler.

  Amelia’s heart sank. The Baylers were dead. Where was Mark?

  John moved aside to allow the medical examiner to examine the bodies. Dammit, this had to stop.

  The body count was rising. And he still hadn’t connected all the dots.

  Amelia looked shell shocked as she huddled in her coat, but she didn’t retreat to the car, as if she refused to run.

  “Both of the vics bled out due to the gunshot wounds,” the ME said. “Shot at close range. Died instantly.”

  “It sounds like a professional hit,” John said.

  Jake’s brow rose. “Or someone with military training.”

  The ME turned the woman’s hands over and indicated her jagged nails. “It looks like she fought, and fought hard. I might get some DNA from beneath her fingernails.”

  John gestured toward the man’s knuckles. “Looks like he fought as well.” He looked down at the steep drop-off. “No car up here or down there. The shooter shot them and dumped them over the ridge hoping no one would find them.”

  Jake pointed to skid marks on the side of the road leading to the overhang. “Looks like he was in a hurry.”

  “Who discovered the bodies?” John asked.

  “A trucker called it in. She pulled over at the overhang for a smoke. Dropped her cell phone and bent to pick it up. That’s when she looked over the ridge, saw the couple, and phoned it in.”

  “A female driver?” John asked.

  Jake nodded. “I questioned her and took down her contact information. She was pretty shook up. Said it was the first dead body she’d ever seen.”

  Lucky her.

  Jake stooped to examine the road. Tire tracks marked the sludge and led to the shoulder near the ridge. Only one set, meaning somehow the killer had been in the same car as the couple. He tried to piece together a possible scenario.

  A car hijacking? The unsub had surprised the couple at a gas station or motel, then forced them to drive out there, where he shot them and dumped their bodies, thinking no one would find them.

  Or he’d ambushed them at their home and forced them to go with him at gunpoint?

  What about their little boy? So far the serial kidnapper had only snatched children at opportune moments. No murder involved.

  This was different.

  Because the Baylers had run? Because they knew the kidnapper and could identify him? Because Mr. Bayler had handled the adoptions and the kidnapper was afraid he’d talk?

  “I assume you’re looking for the Baylers’ car,” John said.

  “An APB’s been issued, and there’s an Amber Alert for Mark Bayler,” Jake said.

  John turned to one of the CSIs. “Take a plaster cast of that tire print to narrow down what kind of car the unsub is driving.”

  The CSI went to the crime van to retrieve supplies, while the medics loaded the bodies in the van to transport to the morgue.

  “I’ll search for next of kin,” Jake said.

  Amelia walked away, the worry in her body palpable as she tapped her fingers up and down her arm. Her nerves looked frayed now, making him want to comfort her.

  Unfortunately he knew what she was thinking. A cold-blooded killer had taken Mark Bayler.

  The little boy she thought might be her son.
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br />   Exhaustion tugged at Amelia as John drove her back to her studio. His buddy had done a rush job to install the security system, and he showed her how to set it.

  Her ears were still ringing from the explosion, and she couldn’t erase the image of the Baylers’ dead bodies from her mind.

  Whoever had shot them was a cold-blooded murderer.

  She shook off her jacket as they entered, the painting of Sadie and Ben drawing her gaze.

  Was she crazy to think she might have that someday? To want love for herself? To want the little boy she’d given birth to?

  She looked up at John, and her heart melted with longing and need. The dream she’d had of him teased her, and her body warmed.

  But the thought of the Baylers’ little boy in the hands of the ruthless person who’d killed the couple made her tremble.

  If Mark was her son, and the Commander hadn’t taken him all those years ago, Mark’s birth father might have returned for him.

  “Amelia, are you all right?”

  Dried blood darkened his forehead and the bruise on his cheek looked stark. “I should ask you that. Come on.”

  She took his hand and led him to the bathroom, then gestured toward the toilet. “Sit.”

  “What?”

  “I’m going to clean your wounds,” she said. “You really should have gone to the hospital.”

  “I’m fine.”

  She gently shoved him onto the seat. “I said sit. I want to take care of you.”

  His dark gaze met hers. “I should be saying that.”

  “You have taken care of me,” Amelia said.

  She wet a cloth and wiped at the blood on his forehead. His skin felt hot to the touch, his breathing growing heavier as she tended his wound.

  She raked his hair back from his forehead to apply antibiotic ointment and a butterfly bandage, and he gripped her hips with his hands. “You’re driving me crazy.”

  Another smile tugged at her mouth. So he wasn’t immune. He felt the heat between them, too.

  Instead of pulling her to him though, he stood and clutched her hands in his. “Enough.”

  “Why?” Amelia asked, an angry note to her voice.

  His gaze latched with hers, a flicker of regret there. “You’re too good for me. You’re strong, resilient, beautiful.”

  Amelia’s pulse clamored. No one had ever said that to her. “So are you, John. You almost got blown up today, and I was attacked. For all we know, we might die tomorrow, so why not comfort each other tonight?”

  Emotions glittered in his eyes as if he wanted to walk away, but in the heat of the moment, her argument made sense.

  She lifted her hand and squeezed his arm. “I don’t know how you do what you do, John. It takes a special man to risk his life to save strangers.”

  “They’re children,” John said gruffly. “Innocent kids.” He cradled her hand between his. “Just like you were.”

  The cries and screams of the CHIMES echoed in Amelia’s head. “I’m trying to forget that time.”

  “Forgetting isn’t all it’s cracked up to be,” John said.

  She swallowed at the anguish in his voice. “You sound like you know that firsthand.”

  He sighed wearily. “I do. A few years ago, I had an accident and lost years of my life.” He dropped his head forward with a pained sound. “I don’t even know what my real name is.”

  She’d forgotten days and nights, but John had lost years where he had no knowledge of where he’d been or what he’d done? Or if he even had a family?

  At least she’d had Papaw and Sadie, and they had loved her unconditionally.

  Touched by the anguish in his eyes, she cupped his face between her hands, stood on tiptoe, and pressed her lips to his.

  One touch of his mouth to hers set her body on fire with need and hunger.

  He moaned low in his throat, a sound so raw that it sent a thousand erotic sensations cascading over her body.

  But he started to pull away again.

  “Why are you always shutting down?” she whispered.

  “I don’t know how to do this,” he said gruffly. “How to be what you need. What you want.” He dropped his head forward. “What you deserve.”

  “You are exactly what I need right now.” Amelia looped her arms around his neck and brushed her lips across his heated skin. “I need your hands, your mouth, your lips . . . ”

  His breath brushed her cheek as he trailed his hands down her hips and coaxed her toward the bedroom.

  Raw passion and hunger drove John to succumb to his need for Amelia.

  The moment he’d seen her, he’d wanted her.

  He’d been lying to himself when he said he wouldn’t take advantage of her. He’d seen snippets of himself as a killer. But he wasn’t that man anymore . . .

  He would do anything to keep her safe.

  She kissed his neck, and his skin burned with an ache that only she could assuage. He eased her back on the bed, passion exploding between them in a rush of pleasure and moans as they tore at each other’s clothes.

  Her satiny skin glided against his as he rose above her. This time she whispered his name in a guttural groan, and he trailed his fingers over her breasts, teasing her nipples to hard buds that he drew into his mouth.

  She raked her fingers across his back, urging him closer, and he suckled her until she lifted her hips in silent invitation. Stoked by the way she rubbed her foot up his calf, he kneed her legs apart, his thick cock pulsing between her legs.

  “I want you, John,” Amelia whispered against his neck.

  God help him, her feminine scent was intoxicating.

  Dammit, he wanted her, too. Wrong or right, it didn’t matter. He had to have her. Be inside her. Feel her body joining with his.

  At the last minute, common sense kicked in, and he dug a condom from the pocket of his jeans, rolled it on, and thrust inside her. Amelia cried out his name as he filled her to the core.

  She wrapped her legs around him, and he lifted her hips, pulling in and out, teasing her clit with his cock, then filling her again and again. Together they built a frantic rhythm, naked bodies sliding against one another as the tension built.

  Her body quivered, and she trailed her fingers down his back as the first shudders of her orgasm gripped her. John ran his hands over her breasts, toying with her nipples as she met him thrust for thrust. Finally he gripped her hips and plunged harder, deeper, the heat waves building inside him, emotions teetering on the surface as his release claimed him and he poured himself inside her.

  Shudders tore through Amelia as her orgasm gripped her, but images of John and her together hit her as the waves receded.

  John holding a gun on her. John ordering her to obey. To be quiet.

  Locking her in that room.

  John saluting the Commander and keeping her hostage. John aiming a gun at her and ordering her back inside the hospital room.

  Tears flooded her eyes, fear and horror clutching her.

  Amelia rose from the bed, her body shaking. Dear God, John hadn’t been her lover. Not even her friend.

  He had worked with the Commander. Had held her prisoner.

  And now what was he doing? Had he lied to her? Was he playing some kind of sick game by insisting he had amnesia?

  Bile rose to her throat, and she raced to the bathroom, slammed the door, and fell to her knees in front of the toilet.

  Thoughts tumbled through her brain . . . if he worked for the Commander, had he gotten close to her to keep an eye on her?

  Maybe he even planned to get rid of her as the Commander would have done . . .

  Fuck. He stared at the sketch the newscaster flashed on the television screen, his blood boiling.

  That picture was him.

  Goddamn son of a bitch. He threw a beer bottle
at the screen and watched the bottle shatter.

  Agitated, he stood and paced to the window and looked out. He was safe for now.

  But he’d need to change his appearance soon.

  Become someone else so those asinine cops couldn’t catch him.

  Or stop him from finishing what he’d started.

  Laughter gurgled in his throat. He was going to make the world a better place.

  And if it didn’t work, at least everyone would know his name when he was gone.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  John’s heart pounded. What the hell had just happened?

  One minute he and Amelia had been entwined in each other’s arms in the throes of passion, and the next she’d run from the bed as if she was terrified of him.

  He scrubbed his hands over his hair and felt the Band-Aid Amelia had applied with tenderness.

  Emotions tightened his chest. God, he wanted her again.

  But something was wrong.

  He tugged on his jeans and walked over to the bathroom door, then paused to listen. It sounded as if Amelia was retching.

  Sweat broke out on his brow, dread clenching his gut. He had a bad feeling, but he forced himself to knock anyway.

  “Amelia,” he said in a low voice. “Are you okay?”

  Silence.

  “Please open the door.”

  “Go away,” she said in a shaky voice.

  “No, tell me what’s wrong.”

  She suddenly swung the door open, her eyes red-rimmed and swollen. She looked pale and angry and scared.

  “I remembered something.”

  She’d dragged on a robe that she wrapped tighter around her as if the thought of the two of them naked turned her stomach.

  “You . . . you worked for the Commander. All this time I thought my dreams about you meant . . . ” Her voice trailed off.

  Shock bolted through John. “You dreamed about me?”

  “Yes.” Her mouth twisted into a grimace as she released a bitter laugh. “But now I see you were there to help him. To keep me prisoner.”