The Dollmaker (Forgotten Files Book 2)

by Mary Burton

  A distant thud stopped his approach. Frowning, he paused for a moment and listened. She glanced toward the ceiling, praying it hadn’t been the wind. Please, Dakota, save me.

  Seconds passed, and when they heard no other sound, he gripped the scissors and cut another chunk of her hair.

  She winced, knowing the loss of hair paled compared to what she was about to lose. Her face, her dignity, her life with Dakota. It was the idea of never seeing him again that made her most sad and angry.

  He’d grabbed a third handful of hair and raised the scissors when a loud thump echoed from above. He fisted her hair tighter. Another bang crashed, followed by the sound of wood splintering.

  “Robbie, they’ve found you,” she said. “Robbie, please, you still have time to escape. Run while you can.”

  He clung to her hair an extra beat before he released it and glared at the door. “They have not found me. I made sure we were well hidden.”

  “Please, Robbie, run.”

  “Stop telling me what to do. Get out of my head.” He was clearly agitated. “No one is going to take you away from me. No one.” DeLuca patted her on the shoulder. “Don’t go anywhere, I’ll be right back.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “To take care of any trespassers.”

  When he vanished through the door, she focused on the loose wristband. She twisted her hand, pulling and straining against the strap, feeling her skin bruise and scrape. The leather creaked and stretched, wanting to give way. She yanked harder as tears of frustration rolled down her cheeks.

  She would not die in this room.

  When the door splintered, Sharp stumbled inside but quickly steadied himself. He stared inside the dark warehouse space. The main level was vacant except for scattered boxes and trash that still remained from the last tenant. The windows were covered with white shades that had yellowed over time. In the center of the room were several pillars, and in the back, a door. Sharp reached for the light switch, but when he flipped it, nothing happened. He moved toward the door and found it locked with a dead bolt.

  Sharp started to move when McLean laid his hand on his shoulder. “What?”

  “Listen,” McLean said.

  They both stilled a beat, and somewhere below them the stairs creaked.

  “He’s here,” McLean said. “And on the move.”

  Headlights swiped across the front of the building, and he saw the flash of blue lights. Through the broken door, he spotted a Virginia State Police cruiser. Riley rose out of the car and rushed into the building, her weapon drawn.

  “More on the way,” she said.

  “There’s a door inside that’s locked,” Sharp said.

  She glanced at her cruiser and ran back to retrieve a tire iron. As she raced up to Sharp, she studied McLean. “Who are you?” Riley asked.

  “Later,” Sharp said, taking the tire iron.

  The trio raced toward the door. Sharp drove the tire iron into the doorjamb and, using leverage, popped the door loose.

  DeLuca heard the grind of metal against metal seconds before wood split. The house had been breached. A helpless rage rolled over him, and he pressed his fists to his temples. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t fair! No one had the right to come into his house and take what was his. He was just getting started with Serenity, and he was not going to let anyone take her from him. He’d waited too long. Planned and dreamed about their time together for too long.

  The thud of footsteps creaked on the floor above him, and he knew they were coming for him. The urge to burn the building down around them all was strong. He ran back to a storage closet and unlocked it quickly. Inside was a canister of thermite, a metal powder he used to start his fires. If he spread the accelerant on the steps and set it ablaze, then that would buy him time to get out the back with his Serenity.

  Simply thinking about the fire calmed his nerves and cleared his muddled thoughts. He wedged open the container and ran up the steps. He dumped it on the wooden staircase, which would be the perfect tinder for his blaze.

  At the bottom of the stairs, he tossed the empty vessel aside and reached for a match in his pocket. Just as he struck it, the door at the top of the stairs slammed open.

  He looked up into the face of Dakota Sharp, whose eyes burned like Lucifer’s. He dropped the match and ran to get his Serenity. If he moved fast, he could grab his Serenity and escape out the back as the fires consumed Agent Sharp.

  “Help!” Tessa shouted when she heard the crash upstairs. “Help!” The acrid scent of smoke drifted from somewhere above her. Her heart kicked hard in her chest. DeLuca had set a fire.

  Tears pooled in Tessa’s eyes as she pulled so hard on the strap that the skin on her hand bled. Instead of frustration, she yanked harder, hoping the blood would make her skin slick. She twisted and turned her wrist, unmindful of the pain.

  As the scent of smoke grew heavier, footsteps thudded in the hallway and she knew DeLuca was coming back. “I am not dying here today.”

  With a final, desperate pull, she jerked her hand free. Success chased fear as she focused her attention to the other strap. Her fingers trembling, she undid the buckle and she quickly swiped away the leather. She rolled and stumbled free of the chair, falling on her hands and knees. Even as her head spun from adrenaline, she scrambled to her feet. Footsteps thudded closer toward the door. She raced to the worktable and grabbed the scissors, gripping them in her blood-soaked hand.

  The door banged open.

  DeLuca stood in the doorway, his eyes wild with fury and panic. When he saw her standing, his dark eyes narrowed and he raced toward her.

  She braced.

  Gripped the scissors.

  She held her ground, knowing if she ran, he’d catch her and it all might be over. She had to stand her ground. Wait for her moment to strike.

  When he was only inches from her and reaching for her arm, she lunged.

  DeLuca tried to sidestep the blow, but she was quick enough to jab the scissors in his forearm. As smoke began to roll in from the open doorway, he howled. He recovered quickly and sprang for her again. “I know you are afraid, Serenity, but I’m here to save you. The building is on fire. We only have a minute before this space fills with smoke.”

  He moved to grab her again as if his words were enough to soothe her, but she struck again, cutting his arm once more. He howled, all traces of worry vanishing in a flash of pain.

  She raised the scissors to strike.

  “Fucking bitch,” he growled as he grabbed her wrist, suspending the scissors in midair. “I thought you were different.”

  “I’m not your goddamned doll, you twisted son of a bitch.”

  DeLuca looked hurt for a split second before he grabbed her hand and twisted so hard that bone snapped. Pain shot through her arm. He’d broken her wrist.

  As the smoke crawled through the room, she thought about all the times Sharp had lectured her about self-defense. All the times she just wanted him to let the past go. Balling up fingers from her good hand, she drove it straight for his throat. He barely deflected the move and grabbed her by the neck. His fingers clamped into her like an iron vise, and the madness darkening his eyes told her he was seconds from crushing her windpipe.

  She jabbed her knee up, aiming for his groin but striking his thigh. The blow was enough to make him grunt and ease up on her throat for an instant.

  He slapped her hard across the face. Her thoughts scattered as the pain ricocheted through her skull. He raised his hand to strike again.

  The door slammed open with such force, the hinges gave way. Through the smoke she saw Dakota. His eyes were dark and feral as he raised his weapon.

  DeLuca grabbed Tessa and turned her around as he tightened his grip on her neck. Dakota had trained for years as a sniper, and though it had been a decade since he’d been in the military, he didn’t hesitate to take a difficult shot. He fired twice.

  Both bullets struck the side of DeLuca’s head and burrowed through his
brain. Blood and brain matter sprayed her face. Tessa flinched as she stared at Dakota, his gun still pointing at his target. For a moment she was afraid to move for fear Dakota would have to shoot again.

  DeLuca’s grip slackened, and he fell to his knees, his dead weight pulling her down with him. His weight pinned her to the floor, knocking the air from her lungs. She pushed against him, desperate to be free.

  Dakota yanked him off Tessa, and weapon still drawn, quickly scanned the room for any other threats. McLean rushed the doorway with Riley.

  Holstering his weapon, Dakota gathered her up in his arms. “Tessa?”

  Her tears tumbled uncontrollably as her fingers gripped his arm. The iron hold she’d had on her fear slackened and gave way.

  Sharp picked her up, and they all hurried toward the back exit that led outside to a set of concrete steps that rose to a back parking lot.

  Outside, the cool fresh air brushed her face as the roar of the fire inside the building grew more ferocious.

  Dakota wiped DeLuca’s blood from her face. “Are you hurt?”

  She shook her head as she stared at the blood now clinging to Dakota’s palms. “Just my wrist.”

  He touched her shorn hair. “Are you sure? Tessa, you can tell me anything.”

  She hugged him carefully, guarding her injured wrist. “I’m okay. He was going to do terrible things, but you stopped him. You saved me.”

  His arms tightened into a steel band. “I thought I’d lost you.”

  “I’m here.” She’d never stopped to think he’d been as terrified as she had been.

  “And I’m not letting you go again. Ever.”

  She drew back and cupped his face in her hands. “I’m holding you to that.”

  His smile was more feral than relieved.

  The building was alighted with flames as McLean stood guard and Riley ran to her cruiser to call for backup and fire crews.

  She hugged him again, using his strength to steady the rush of emotions that threatened to overwhelm her. Finally, when she caught her breath, she looked up into eyes that glistened with tears. “He killed Kara.”

  Sharp cupped her face. “He actually admitted that?”

  “Yes. He also killed Diane and Elena.”

  “Jesus.” He pulled her into his arms again.

  “I love you. I don’t know if you want to give us a second chance or not, but I love you. It’s all I thought about in there.”

  He threaded his fingers again through her hair, fisting the short pieces in his hand. “I’ve always loved you. Too much maybe. I’m never letting you go again.”

  She smiled. “Good.”

  EPILOGUE

  Five weeks later

  Sharp didn’t bring flowers for his sister.

  He wondered if that was a mistake as he knelt in front of his sister’s fresh grave. He’d had her body exhumed, and they’d found the doll buried beside her. Tessa and Dr. Kincaid had been the ones to examine her and remove the doll cradled at her side before putting her back in the ground next to her parents.

  “Kara, I thought about bringing flowers,” he said. “I hear girls like them. But I never pictured you with an armload of daisies or roses.”

  He reached in his pocket and pulled out a deck of cards. “Remember how we used to play gin? God, I hated that game, but you loved it.” Shit, the hours he’d sat listening to her prattle as they’d traded cards. He laid the deck on her grave. “Thought the cards were more fitting. Tessa told me she put a pack in your hands.”

  He brushed dead leaves aside. “I just wanted you to know we got him. He’s dead. And if there’s any justice, he’s burning in hell now.”

  Norman DeLuca. He’d been there all along. Standing at the funeral of Kara. And then at Terrance’s funeral, his eyes moist with what looked like genuine sadness and regret.

  Sharp suspected DeLuca had said the truth when he told Tessa he’d not meant to kill Terrance. He’d not expected to see Terrance standing in that alley, and when the kid got a glimpse of his face, he really believed he had no choice. If the kid had talked, Diane would have been found and his secret, his creation, discovered.

  A search of DeLuca’s home found a box of grisly photos of all the women he’d killed. There’d been a few pictures of Elena during her transition. Her face was so raw and red and layered in tattoos. There had been multiple pictures of Diane before, during, and after her change. And the other women who fit the homicide reports of several prostitutes in the Denver area. Their files had been pulled, and a look at their autopsy photos showed that DeLuca hadn’t perfected his gruesome skills. On these women, he’d not only practiced on their faces but on their backs and legs as well. One woman’s entire chest and back were covered in permanent ink.

  At the bottom of the box of pictures were images of Kara taken during the days she’d been missing before she was found dead. He’d applied and reapplied makeup to her several times and propped her in a chair, holding a doll. There was no telling if she was alive or heavily drugged during those grim photo sessions.

  DeLuca’s secrets had been peeled back layer by layer, photo by photo.

  Sharp learned that DeLuca’s identity had been stolen from a young infant who’d died in Alaska the same year Robbie Knox had been born. When Robbie Knox “died” and became DeLuca, his father put him into a mental hospital in Virginia, where he was treated for six years. By the time he moved to Virginia to live near his father, Robbie Knox had long been forgotten.

  It still twisted Sharp’s gut to know that DeLuca had held his sister for days. He woke up often in the night, unable to sleep, forced to pace and battle regrets. To know she might have been found if Knox hadn’t been hiding his own secrets.

  Sharp’s only bit of solace was that she didn’t realize what was happening due to the heavy sedation. Or, at least, that was the hope that kept him sane.

  And, of course, Tessa was there to wrap her arms around him and coax him back to bed. When he didn’t feel like talking, she didn’t press; when he did, she sat and silently listened.

  Sharp removed a flask from his pocket and held it up to Roger’s gravestone. “I should have toasted you at your funeral. You were right all these years.” He took a long swig, grimacing as the whiskey burned his throat. He turned to his mother’s grave. “Mom, I did bring you a flower. I remember how you liked them.” He laid a single rose on her grave. “Take care of them, Mom.”

  He rose, staring at the three headstones, taking some comfort in the fact that they were together.

  When he turned, he saw Tessa leaning against his car. Her short hair was loose, now styled into a layered cut that suited her. The doctors had removed the cast from her wrist, and her bruises had healed.

  She stared at him with such understanding and longing, it took his breath away. “You okay?”

  Leaves rustled under his feet as he moved toward her. She opened her arms, and he stepped into the embrace. For a long moment, he simply breathed in her scent.

  “Are you okay?” she repeated.

  “I never felt I had the right to be okay,” he said. “Kara was dead, and I just didn’t deserve any happiness.”

  She tightened her hold. “Dakota, she wouldn’t want that for you.”

  “I know. But I couldn’t shake the feeling.”

  “And now?”

  “I can finally say I’m okay. It’s done.” He raised his gaze and kissed her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and held him close.

  He cupped her face in his hands, and when he broke the kiss, he felt a sense of renewal. She’d moved into his town house nearly three weeks ago, and he was getting used to accepting that he was not alone anymore.

  “Let’s go home,” she said.

  Sharp took her left hand in his and from his coat pocket removed a diamond ring. He slid it on her finger until it pushed against her wedding band. “Not the biggest in terms of carats, and I’m sure there are some rings that sparkle brighter, but—”

  “But nothing,” she
said, snatching her hand back so she could admire the ring. “It is stunning.”

  Flickers of doubt shadowed his eyes. “You sure? I can get another.”

  “No,” she said, hugging him. “No. It’s perfect.”

  “I love you,” he said, his voice rough with emotion as he held her tight.

  She kissed him on the lips. “And I love you too, Agent Sharp.”

  “Marry me.”

  “We are married.”

  “Let’s do it right this time. With friends. Make it a celebration.”

  She hugged him. “I’ll marry you as many times as you ask, Dakota Sharp.”

  His lips broadened into a wide grin, and he kissed her again.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Photo © 2015 Studio FBJ

  New York Times and USA Today bestselling novelist Mary Burton is the highly praised author of twenty-eight published romance and suspense novels and five novellas. She lives in Virginia with her husband and three miniature dachshunds.