Beastly (Phoebe Reede: The Untold Story #3)

by Michelle Irwin

  Declan rang back a few hours later. “It looks like it’s a bust. Darnell and I have been waiting in front of his property, just in case, but there’s nothing and now the police are just going.”

  “Goddammit.”

  “I’m going back to Phoebe’s apartment to see if there’s something else we’ve missed. I’ll catch up with you after you finish.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  I headed back out to look for Xavier again. It was a little after two, and there was no reason he shouldn’ta been around, workin’ on the final preparations to send the truck out on the road again. I asked ’round but no one could say where he’d gone.

  Knowin’ there was nothin’ else for it, I ran to my computer and looked up the company records. I rang his cell phone number. The timin’ of his disappearance was too coincidental.

  “What do you want?” The words were practically growled down the line.

  “Where are ya, Xavier?” I asked, tryin’ to keep my voice calm. “I need some help with somethin’ for Kansas.”

  “I’m sorry, I had to leave. I have a sick family member.”

  “Xavier, is this to do with Phoebe?” I wasn’t gonna blurt it out and yet it danced off my tongue anyway.

  He hung up on me.

  I called straight back. “Xavier, you—”

  “Why’d you get the police involved?” It sounded like his grip on sanity had slipped away. “They’ll try to take her away. Don’t you see? Phoebe is mine! You can’t have her. You’ll never have her. Soon she’ll be in my arms forever.”

  There was an edge to his voice that I didn’t like. One I didn’t trust. “If ya had anythin’ to do with this, and I ain’t sayin’ ya did, ya have to let her free. It ain’t helpin’ no one her bein’ locked away anywhere. She must almost be outta medication, and ya don’t want her to be hurt ’cause of that.”

  “You don’t understand. This is for her own good. It’s all for her own good. Bee told me he could fix her. He failed, he hurt her, and now the police are looking for her. There’s only one way I can keep her now. One way to make her pure.”

  He wasn’t talkin’ to me any longer, that much was clear. “Xavier. Please, whatever you’re thinkin’ of doin’. Don’t. Please don’t. Don’t hurt her like ya did Daisy.”

  “Daisy wasn’t the one. She wasn’t right. Phoebe’s right. She can be pure. She’ll be my wife. The scriptures say it all. ‘Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ loved the church and gave Himself up for her to make her holy, cleansing her by the washing with water through the word, and to present her to Himself as a radiant church, without stain or wrinkle or any other blemish, but holy and blameless.’” The words all flowed from him without pause.

  My heart leapt into my throat. He wasn’t talkin’ sense, and that worried me more than his claims that Phoebe was his.

  “She’ll face judgement at my side. Together, we’ll walk into righteousness. But first, Bee has to pay. It’s all there. All for us to read and follow. ‘Vengeance is mine, and recompense, for the time when their foot shall slip; for the day of their calamity is at hand, and their doom comes swiftly.’” He hung up.

  My heart pounded and my hands were so sweaty that I could barely get my cell to cooperate when I tried to bring up Declan’s number. I needed to call 911 too, but warnin’ Declan seemed more important in that moment.

  “Xavier just confirmed he has Phoebe, and I think he’s gonna do somethin’ to her.” I rushed the words out before he could even say hello.

  “Shit.”

  “He was talkin’ about cleanin’ and vengeance. That she’d be his forever. I think he’s gonna kill her.”

  “Call the fucking police and meet me there.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  AS SOON AS I hung up from Declan, I called 911, but I couldn’t give them any real information, only my assumption that Xavier might’ve confirmed he had her and that maybe she was in danger. There seemed to be no urgency on their end, maybe ’cause of the failed search warrant.

  Even as I tried to convince them of the danger Phoebe was in, I was climbin’ into my truck and headin’ toward Bee’s wreckin’ yard. When I hung up, I threw my phone across the truck onto the passenger seat.

  I pushed every speed limit I could, drivin’ through every stop sign I could and not stoppin’ at a single yellow light. I arrived seconds before Declan did, and we both pulled up in the driveway and climbed from our cars with the same rush.

  Two Rottweilers went crazy behind a high fence as we greeted each other and raced to the front door.

  “Where do you think she could be? The police obviously didn’t see anything?”

  “I dunno, sir, but the way Xavier spoke . . .” A chill raced down my spine. “He knows where she is. That much I’m sure of.”

  “But do you think she could be—” He cut off as the house came into view.

  “She was alive when I spoke to him, that’s all I know.”

  The front door stood ajar. A bloodied handprint was smeared over the white surface.

  “Fuck!” Declan’s urgent whisper was enough to send my already racin’ heart into overdrive. “The police are on their way, aren’t they?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Well, we can’t wait for them.” Declan nudged the door open with his elbow.

  “Definitely not,” I said as I followed. There was no way I was gonna leave it alone if there was any chance we’d be able to rescue her.

  The first thing I saw was the clashin’ floral material. Almost every surface was pink or had a flower pattern. What was probably intended to be feminine and welcomin’ instead felt like the climax of a horror movie. The contrast between the horror of the blood and the bright colors made the situation surreal.

  There was a trail of blood runnin’ through the room, but because it was just droplets and not footprints, it was impossible to tell if they were comin’ or goin’.

  In silent agreement, we pushed on past the kitchen and into the hallway. The blood was thicker through there, the ground almost slick with it. The metallic scent filled the air and made my stomach churn. Still I clenched my fists and headed deeper into the hallway.

  The doors left and right were all closed, but there was one almost at the end of the hallway that not only stood ajar but was smeared with another bloodied handprint. Declan and I exchanged glances before once more movin’ forward side-by-side.

  My heart pounded so loud it was the only thing I could hear, thumpin’ away in my ears. I was barely breathin’, ’cause I didn’t want to make a single sound to alert anyone to our presence—not if there might be someone lyin’ in wait for a rescuer to come. I tried to push the thought that our presence might actually force Xavier’s hand sooner than he intended outta my mind. It was just another reason to move as swiftly but quietly as we could.

  No noises issued from beyond the half-open door, but we didn’t trust that meant there was no one inside. Takin’ care to stay back and away from the line of sight of the door, we crept closer. It was only when I was almost directly in line with it that I saw her.

  I staggered back as I stared at the corpse.

  Her mouth was slack, her eyes unstarin’. The hole in her head and burns around the wound suggested she’d been shot from close range. Her tongue lolled forward, tippin’ out of her mouth over lips stained with too-pink lipstick.

  “Oh God,” Declan said from beside me. “Cora.”

  “Xavier’s mama,” I whispered. I hadn’t met her too many times, but from time to time, she’d attended a Richards Racin’ function at Bee’s side. I recalled Angel tellin’ me she’d offered Declan support and best wishes. Had it been a guilty conscience? The more important question was probably why she was dead, but my mind was skippin’ around at the overload of information.

  A crash sounded from inside the room and both Declan and I leapt back until our backs hit the wall. We waited a moment. I held my breath, expectin’ someone to burst from the space at any second. When no one came,
I pushed forward. Declan was at my side as I did. Usin’ the back of my hand, and avoidin’ the blood smeared on the surface, I pushed open the door.

  What lay beyond was nothin’ less than a horror movie. Scattered across the once pink comforter was at least two dozen Polaroid photos—just like the ones that’d been left in my office. Only, the ones delivered to me were almost innocent in comparison to the images on the bed. So many girls, a vast array of eye colors and skin tones, all in different poses but all bein’ hurt. Bein’ abused.

  I pressed the back of my hand against my mouth as my stomach churned.

  In the middle, tossed almost haphazardly on top, were two photos of Phoebe that broke my heart. I wanted to shove them outta the way so Declan didn’t have to see his daughter that way, but he wasn’t focused on the bed anyway. All of his attention was on a spot between the bed and the wall.

  I saw why when he charged in that direction, fell to his knees on the floor, and lifted something from the ground. Before I could process the scene, he’d shoved Bee up against the wall and closed his fingers around Bee’s throat. “What the fuck did you do to my daughter?”

  Bee laughed, the sound gurglin’ from his throat and causin’ pink spittle to form on his lips. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

  Declan’s fingers tightened until Bee’s face started to turn blue.

  “Okay, I’ll tell you,” Bee wheezed.

  Declan’s hold released, but only barely.

  Bee’s gaze darted to the side and his arm stretched out. I saw his intention before Declan could—a gun just a few inches away from Bee’s hand. I stepped forward and kicked it out of his reach, earnin’ a glare. Bee spat at me, the blood from his mouth colorin’ it red.

  “You’re too late, you stupid hick. You should hear the things your beautiful girlfriend begged me to do to her.”

  His lies woulda been a kick in the stomach if I didn’t know Phoebe. If he . . .

  She wouldn’ta asked for it, wouldn’ta wanted anythin’ that had appeared in the photos. I charged for the gun, ready to put an end to it once and for all, but Declan stopped me, reaching for my wrist with one hand. “He’s a lying sack of shit. Don’t touch that gun. It’s probably the one that killed Cora.” Before waitin’ for a response, he turned his attention back to Bee. “Why’d you do it? Did she catch you in the middle of one of your depraved acts?”

  He’d obviously seen the photos, at least in passin’. I wondered if he’d spotted Phoebe among the girls, and whether the images of her were burned into his brain like they were mine.

  “I’m not lying about this, Reede. The dirty whore begged me. She got on her knees faster than any of the little sluts you used to screw.”

  Declan’s hand released my wrist, lettin’ go and backhandin’ Bee in one motion. I watched with a sick satisfaction growin’ in my stomach. He deserved that and so much more. The photos on the bed weren’t a lie—he’d hurt her and I was happy for him to pay dearly for it.

  “When I kissed her, she tasted sweet. Just like her whore mother.”

  Declan stood and kicked Bee’s side. A flow of blood rushed from a wound under his ribs. After the cry of pain he issued, he started to laugh again.

  “Where are they?”

  “She’s already dead. My dense fuckwit of a stepson will’ve seen to that.”

  “Tell me,” Declan demanded, shovin’ the sole of his shoe against the wound on Bee’s side.

  “Fuck off, Reede.” Bee tried to shove him away, but he didn’t seem to have any strength left.

  Stoppin’ his fight, he dragged himself away.

  He coughed, bringin’ up a stream of foamy blood. “Just leave me to die. Maybe I’ll meet your daughter again in hell.”

  Declan kneeled over him and closed his fingers around Bee’s throat. “I’ll fucking speed things along for you if you don’t tell me where she is.”

  I raced over to them and pulled Declan away. The last thing he needed was a murder charge on top of everything else. Bee laughed as I did, his lips pullin’ back to reveal a set of teeth coated with blood.

  “You’ll never get to her in time. She’s already dead.” He sang the last line. Between his words and the macabre stain on his teeth, it was a sight from a nightmare.

  I let Declan go and he kicked Bee in the side again. “You fucking bastard! You did this! You hurt her!” Each word was punctuated with another kick.

  Bee rolled onto his back and laughed. “And I enjoyed every fucking second. Do you want to know how your daughter’s tears taste, Declan? Do you want to know the noises she makes when—” He cut off with a wheeze when Declan stomped on his stomach. The wound in his side gaped and blood oozed from it—thick and dark maroon.

  I grabbed Declan’s collar before he could do anythin’ more. Then I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and dragged him from the room.

  He didn’t stop fightin’ even as I shoved him down the hall. “Let me at him! I want to fucking kill him! He needs to fucking die!”

  “He’s dyin’ anyway, sir. And there ain’t nothin’ more you’re getting from him. We need to find Phoebe. She’s in a room made of cement.” I’d known it from the photos left on my desk, but seein’ the other ones put it fresh in my mind. “Probably a basement or storm cellar. I don’t think there’s one under the house.” It was raised a few inches above the ground so it seemed unlikely there would be a basement underneath, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t a storm cellar or somethin’ similar nearby. “You search around outside the house, and I’ll go check by the workshop.”

  After a calmin’ breath, he nodded. We raced from the house, leavin’ bloody footprints as we went. Declan started circlin’ the house while I wondered what to do about the two big dogs between me and the buildin’ I’d promised to investigate. I didn’t get very far when I found a new trail of blood. A few drops darkening the dirt near the fence.

  “Declan!” I shouted before followin’ the trail.

  At my side, the dogs barked and leapt at the fence separatin’ us. I tried to block them out, but each time their salivatin’ mouths neared the fence, I had to turn my attention to them. If we had to get behind the fence, they were gonna cause an issue.

  I rounded a corner and found two large pieces of tin lyin’ in the middle of the walkway. On the ground, so close to the back of the buildin’ it was almost easy to miss, was a metal trapdoor. I guessed the tin usually covered it up, concealin’ it even more. There was a little pool of blood in front of it. It wasn’t much, no bigger than a quarter, but enough to confirm I had the right place.

  “’Round here!” I cried, hopin’ Declan would hear ’cause I wasn’t turnin’ away from the place until I had that door open. I didn’t even think to be quiet when I considered that just below my feet, Phoebe could be injured—or worse—and I was finally, finally, close enough to reach for her again.

  Usin’ all my strength, I pulled up the heavy metal door. While I was securin’ it open, Declan charged down the ladder.

  Moments after he reached the bottom, I heard a door slam open and then a scream. The relief that flooded through me at hearin’ Phoebe’s voice, even in distress, musta been akin to what mothers feel the first time their newborn babies cry.

  The sound of sirens started in the distance, closin’ in by the second. Whatever else was happenin’, the ambulance would soon be there.

  I followed Declan’s path down the narrow ladder, practically leapin’ into the space from halfway down. I didn’t stop as I charged for the open door down the bottom—a door into a secret room.

  The scene inside the bunker broke my heart. Phoebe was curled in a ball against the bed; the too-pink dress she’d obviously been forced into had been torn away in places. Her hands, chained together in front of her body, clutched at a place just above her left breast—right over her heart. One of her legs was secured by a metal cuff, the ankle stickin’ out at an odd angle—almost certainly broken.

  She had to be at least twenty pounds lighter than th
e last time I saw her, and she hadn’t been overweight to start with. Her cheeks were sunken, gaunt, and beneath the layer of blood that appeared to coat her from head to toe, her skin was so pale it made her hair look almost black—especially coated as it was with thick, darkening blood.

  “Oh, darlin’,” I murmured. For half a second, her seafoam gaze lifted to meet mine. Then she squeezed her eyes closed, as though it physically pained her to look at me. She drew in a breath, and it came out carried on a sob. Before I could rush to her side and gather her in my arms like I wanted, Declan’s voice called to me.

  “Help me find the fucking key!” The sound of a rattlin’ chain followed his request.

  It was only when I turned to find out what he was talkin’ about that I saw Xavier, lyin’ in a pool of blood. His gaze was as lifeless as his mama’s. A gash ran over his chin and along his neck in a haphazard line. Considerin’ there had been only two people in the room, it was clear that Phoebe had rescued herself before we could get to her. A quick glance back at her—at the knife lyin’ just inches from her—confirmed it.

  Watchin’ her sobbin’, frail body though, it didn’t feel like she’d been rescued. It felt like she’d been condemned and we were too late.

  Why couldn’t we have found her earlier?

  Why had I failed her again? I shoulda known Xavier was involved. Shoulda guessed the link between the two Aussies associated with the team—not that there was any real way to make that leap.

  My limbs ached to hold her, to brush the matted hair off her face and whisper to her that it would all be all right. Someday, somehow, things would get better. Even if I couldn’t see that path yet.

  Resistin’ the urge to help her, I moved to Declan’s side to help him flip Xavier over so we could search his pockets. We had no idea whether he even had a key on him. If his plan had been to kill Phoebe, would he have wanted to move her?

  “Got it,” I said as my fingers closed around a key in his front pocket. Without waitin’ for Declan to intervene, I raced toward Phoebe.