by Lora Leigh
“His killer could have found it,” Rafe pointed out.
The thought of that had the ice in Crowe’s veins solidifying.
There had been more in those files than simply what Clyde himself had gathered.
Thank God the file Amelia Sorenson had given Crowe that summer hadn’t been hidden with Clyde’s information. Clyde had known of it, and several of the files he’d put together himself had included information regarding the county attorney. Amelia wasn’t named in the notes placed in the boxes of information and evidence, either, but the possibility that someone could figure out that some of Clyde’s tips came from her was a concern.
The possibility that the information they had could endanger Amelia had the ice that formed Crowe’s soul threatening to crack.
If the Slasher realized she was helping them—she wouldn’t survive it, and Crowe knew it. For five years he’d stayed away from her, kept his distance. He wouldn’t let her face that fate now.
“Maybe Clyde contacted Wayne,” Rafe suggested. “I know Clyde was working with him in regard to that rustling operation they busted in Gray’s Falls last year. And Wayne always did keep in touch with Uncle Clyde.”
That wasn’t possible, Crowe thought.
His cousins had no clue about the relationship he’d had with Wayne’s daughter, or that she had been voluntarily sending Crowe information since she was sixteen, but Clyde had guessed.
After Crowe had left, she anonymously sent that information to Clyde.
She would have known Clyde’s friendship with Wayne was a hazard to her, he reminded himself; she wasn’t a stupid woman. If she had been then she would have never survived her father or the man she had been briefly married to.
“We could contact Wayne,” Logan said. “See if Clyde had talked to him.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea. He’s tried more than once to frame us, and I’d prefer not to tempt him to try again.” Crowe shook his head, their quizzical looks demanding an explanation. “Clyde may have trusted him in other areas but I really don’t think he would, or we should, contact him about this.
“I think we should wait and discuss Clyde or what he might have known, once we’re in the house,” Crowe added softly. “Where the conversation is certain to be kept to ourselves.”
“You could be right.” Logan rubbed at the back of his neck in irritation. “Doesn’t change how dirty Sorenson is, though. That family always was damned strange. Amelia used to be okay, until she married that bastard Stoner Wright.”
Rafer frowned as they all moved away from the grave site and headed to the sprawling ranch house, keeping close, their gazes constantly moving over the area, their senses alert.
All of them sensed the eyes watching them and were taking precautions to keep their conversation to themselves.
“You know, I was home the week Amelia married Stoner Wright,” Rafer said as they walked, evidently needing something to talk about. Crowe wished they’d find another subject. “Clyde received an invitation and attended the wedding. He told me Amelia had jumped from the frying pan into the fire. When I ask what he meant, he wouldn’t elaborate. He wasn’t surprised when Stoner came up missing, though. Clyde just smiled and said he knew that problem would get taken care of right quickly and that he was glad he hadn’t been disappointed.”
Glancing along the distance to the ranch house, his teeth clenched, Crowe knew exactly what Clyde had been referring to.
Not that he was about to elaborate.
“Clyde could be damned strange himself, couldn’t he?” Logan grunted fondly. “He mentioned the same thing to me when I asked about Stoner. And I swear he was amused as hell.”
No doubt he was, Crowe thought, not really surprised that Clyde had figured some things out. Clyde had known human nature better than most.
“Yeah.” Rafer glanced past Logan to Crowe, frowning. “We were both home the weekend Stoner was seen leaving the house with several pieces of luggage, weren’t we? Some of Wayne’s cronies at the bar were with Wayne when he dragged Stoner out behind the bar and threatened to kill him if he didn’t pack his shit and leave. When Clyde heard that he had left the same night, I remember he muttered something about Stoner being scared of far more than Wayne. Do you think he suspected then who we were looking for and decided not to tell us until he had proof?”
Oh, Crowe really didn’t think that was what Clyde had been talking about. Sometimes Clyde knew his charges far too well.
“He would have told us.” Crowe shook his head. He wanted them off the subject of Amelia and Stoner as quickly as possible.
“Yeah,” Logan agreed as they stepped into the ranch yard.
“I don’t know who or what Stoner may have been scared of, but I highly doubt it was Wayne. I know Archer heard a rumor that either Wayne or Stoner had blackmailed Amelia into that marriage, but no one knew the leverage he used.” Rafer’s comment had Crowe’s tension growing now. “If he could force Wayne to allow his daughter to be abused, then he had some heavy ammunition.”
Crowe didn’t even know that one.
After all these years, and the question’s he’d asked, Crowe had never figured out how she had been forced into that marriage. He’d always assumed Wayne had been the one to apply the pressure, though.
“Anyone hear from Stoner since?” Rafe asked after several moments of silence.
“Archer mentioned Wayne has.” Logan nodded. “Wayne’s secretary, Carlotta, said a letter arrived sometime at the office last year, addressed to Amelia. She gave it to Wayne and hasn’t seen it since. She said he was demanding money, and that either Wayne or Amelia receives a letter or phone call every six to eight months or so.” Logan breathed out roughly as they stepped onto the porch and into the house. “I guess they keep him paid off to keep him out of the county.”
Crowe remained silent. He’d heard the letters had been arriving; he just hadn’t yet tracked them down. He had someone working on it, but so far they hadn’t identified the sender.
“Stoner was beating the shit out of Amelia while they were married, according to Archer,” Rafer stated in disgust as the warmth of the house welcomed them. “After Stoner disappeared one of the maids was gossiping about it. I just remembered Archer mentioning that when I came home last year. Archer stopped by the house one night after observing Doc Trynor’s car in the driveway. Wayne had called him to check out Amelia after she fell down the stairs.”
Rafer rolled his eyes.
Crowe could feel the killing ice beginning to build inside him. There were days he wished—
“And she was refusing to go to the hospital. When Archer demanded to see her, he told her he’d never seen stairs leave the same bruises that a man’s fist would. She just sat there, all ladylike with her hands clasped in front of her, and assured him it was indeed the stairs.” Rafer shook his head as he moved to the counter and the coffeepot they’d prepared earlier. Flipping it on, he turned back to his cousins. “The bruises were bad, though, from what I heard.”
It hadn’t been the stairs. Crowe knew that for a fact.
“Why are we talking about two people who have absolutely nothing to do with the Slasher or our parents’ deaths?” Crowe asked coldly, knowing this subject was guaranteed to push him into something damned stupid. Like killing the father who had dared to allow such abuse to continue as long as it had. “Weren’t we trying to figure out what the hell happened to all the files and information he had gathered?”
Thank God he and Clyde had thought to scan a backup digital copy, in case anything should ever happen to the originals.
“Because one of them could know something,” Rafer pointed out. “Someone sent all that information over the years, Crowe. And if the Slasher stole it before killing Clyde, then he’ll make certain Wayne Sorenson receives those files once they realize the bastard is out to frame us as well.”
“Wait.” Logan paused as they each stood within the warmth of the kitchen, trying to make sense of a past and a present
that simply had too many pieces missing. “You think Amelia would have sent that information?”
“Hell no.” Rafer saved Crowe from having to admit to something they should have known about all along. “But she’s not the only one in and out of that office.”
“Why don’t we just keep looking for the files Clyde hid and see what he added to them?” Crowe challenged the other two men mockingly. “We still have the backup digital copy; all that may be missing is whatever he found recently. We have some things to finish ourselves anyway. We’ll make it appear we’re concentrating on opening Brute Force Security Services and getting the plans in place for the resort, Avalanche. While Clyde’s killer thinks we’re distracted by those endeavors, we’ll see what we can do to make him show himself.”
And while they were doing all that, distracting the Slasher, possibly another killer, Wayne Sorenson, and whoever else decided to watch, Crowe would continue to fight the urge to return to the only addiction he’d ever had in his life.
That of one delicate, far-too-beautiful fairy who tempted him to recklessness.
Amelia.
“We need this house and the ranch wired while we’re at it.” Crowe looked around the kitchen and open living room, his eyes narrowed as plans began to form in his mind.
Turning to Logan, he asked, “What did Clyde say our parents did when they first began to suspect the little accidents they were experiencing were more than accidents?”
Logan stared at him thoughtfully.
“He said they looked at the strengths and weaknesses of each of their homes then chose the one they thought would best protect all three families and moved into it together.”
Crowe nodded as Rafe carried the coffeepot and cups to the table where they all took a seat.
“They all lived in town at the time,” he reminded them.
“Yeah, so?” Rafer prodded.
“Listen to me, dammit,” he growled. “They lived in separate areas, in separate homes, and Rafer’s parents were here at the ranch more often than not.”
“Yeah.” Rafe rubbed at the back of his neck as Logan leaned forward, watching Crowe silently.
“Before, there were odd accidents, nothing too serious, but enough to cause them to become concerned for their children and move into the one house that Logan’s parents owned—”
“But what they did was allow the killer to focus on one location, and on our families as a whole,” Rafer guessed.
“Exactly.” Crowe could see now exactly how they could further strain the enemy’s resources. Especially if the enemy was limited in manpower. And the Stalker would have to be limited in manpower. The more people were involved, the greater the chances of discovery.
“Logan.” He turned to his middle cousin. “Get your stuff together and move into the house on Rafferty Lane.”
He turned to Rafer. “You’ll stay here on the ranch while I make it appear I’ve moved into the cabin on Crowe Mountain.”
Logan snorted. “Like you haven’t been living there for years anyway whenever you’ve come back.”
Crowe smiled with slow, easy mockery.
“But they didn’t know when I was due to return,” he reminded them. “So, they never knew when I was home, allowing me to move about freely whenever I did leave the mountain, as long as I stayed in the shadows.”
“Because you weren’t where you were supposed to be,” Logan said thoughtfully.
Crowe inclined his head in acknowledgment.
“So, once again, we won’t be where they expect us to be,” he told them. “We’ve always stayed together whenever we’ve returned. This time, we separate. Let’s make it harder for him. We wire all three places with cameras and sound and see who comes visiting.”
“You scare me, Crowe,” Logan murmured.
“I’m sure I do,” Crowe grunted, catching the sarcasm in his cousin’s voice. “Now, why don’t you scare me and actually get your shit and get the hell out of here. We’ll start wiring your place tonight. Rafe and I’ll slip in after midnight and work till daylight.”
“Hey, don’t forget about that heated path along the base of the mountain behind the house,” Logan reminded him, the widening of his eyes indicating his sudden memory of the path.
Crowe realized even he had forgotten about the geothermals their fathers had found and piped into.
They had created a path a few degrees above body temperature, allowing them to slip in and out without being seen should anyone attempt to use surveillance equipment.
“Hell, I’d forgotten that myself,” Rafer admitted.
“I don’t even think Clyde knew about the path. Let’s make sure no one else finds out about it, either,” Crowe murmured, finally finding a chance to sip at the coffee Rafer had carried to the table.
Finally, something in their favor.
For twenty-two years he’d felt as though they were constantly two steps behind whoever the hell shadowed them and the families that disowned them.
“We’ll survive this,” Rafer said, his voice curiously hollow as he made the statement.
“Damned right we’ll survive it,” Crowe told him.
“While we’re surviving, let’s try to make sure no one else suffers.” Logan was the one to bring their deepest fears to the surface. “Because God help me, but I’m tired of watching innocent women die.”
He wasn’t by himself.
But what Crowe feared the most was that the Slasher would discover the one secret he’d fought so many years to hide.
The secret of the woman who held his heart.
The key to his destruction.
CHAPTER 1
Two years later
Sleep wasn’t happening.
Too many memories haunted her, the knowledge of too much blood and betrayal echoing through her soul.
Amelia had known her father was cruel. She’d known he was a bastard. He’d proved it over the years in so many ways.
In ways that would scar her soul forever. Yet there were days, and nights such as now, that she thanked God he’d never treated her as though he loved her, that he’d never fooled her into trusting him.
If she had trusted him—
A swift, hard strike of terror had her breath hitching at the implications of such a mistake. At what she could have lost, when she had already lost so much.
When she had lost—
“What happened to your room, Amelia? It used to have life in it.”
Amelia swung around, her heart in her throat, her breath suddenly trapped there, threatening to strangle her as she stared back at the man, standing so strong and sure as he slipped past the balcony door.
Amelia had known Crowe would show up. She’d known after she’d been dumped on his porch by Amory Wyatt two weeks before, naked, helpless—oh God.
She turned away from him, staring around the room, wondering what he saw to make him say such a thing. Trying to focus on anything, everything but the memory of him finding her like that.
God, he had changed. In the seven years since the last evening they’d spent in the county attorney’s office, he’d hardened. He was stronger, broader. He was colder.
But then, so was she, she thought. The difference was that she knew the chances of ever finding the warmth she had once known with this man were nil to never.
Amber-flecked brown eyes, emotionless, stared back at her from a face with a harsh, savage male beauty that still had the power to steal her breath.
He owned her heart. He owned the young girl she had once been and fought to forget until the second she’d whirled around to see him standing inside her room. The epitome of every dream she’d ever had—of every nightmare she never wanted to remember—staring around the room that once held so much more than it did now.
The full-size bed was neatly made. It hadn’t really been slept in for years.
She always dreamed of Crowe when she slept in it.
Once, there had been lace on what were now plain sheets. Decorative pillows and the
big stuffed mouse he’d given her weeks before he’d disappeared forever.
The small chaise in the corner of the room held the single blanket and small pillow she used when she did sleep. On the table beside it sat a glass of water, half empty, her phone, and books.
That chaise once held lace scarves, magazines, a pile of books. The table had held pictures of herself with the few friends she’d believed she’d never lose.
There were no pictures now, not of herself or of any friends she might have once had. She had learned to never reveal a weakness. A picture was the same as an arrow pointing to a weak spot, someone or something she may love.
She followed Crowe’s gaze around the room.
It was nearly spartan, with few adornments or keepsakes. It resembled a hotel room more than it did someone’s home.
“Is it over?” she asked.
Had they finally found what they needed to prove her father was the heinous evil behind the identity of the Slasher?
The question hung in the air as she fought to distract him from the sterility of the room.
The sterility of her life.
“It’s over,” he stated, not bothering to hide the satisfaction in his tone. “All we have to do now is catch him.”
Amelia brushed the shoulder-length strands of hair back from her face and watched him carefully.
“Surely, he can’t hide for long,” she whispered, hating the trembling of her voice, the fear that wanted to rise sharp and painful inside her.
“I won’t let him hide for long,” he answered, his lips twisting into a sneer. “But he doesn’t want to hide, does he? He wants to destroy us.”
No, her father wouldn’t stay hidden for long. She knew Wayne, and she knew the demonic killer known as the Slasher. She’d spent most of her adult life trying to avoid both, only to learn they were one and the same.
Unfortunately, she hadn’t been certain of that until the night her father had forced her from her bedroom, rendered her unconscious, then transported her to the cabin where he had already raped and killed more than a dozen young women in the past fourteen years.
She was forced to shake her head slowly as she met his gaze once again.
