He pulled into her parking lot moments later and bolted from the car and up the stairs even as he strived for the image of calm.
He rapped on her door. “Emma?”
“Who is it?”
“Mason.”
“Thank God.” Locks tumbled as she opened them. The chain rattled. The knob turned.
Behind him, a rush of pure rage blinded him for a second, and he spun around.
All he saw was a dark figure, arm raised, and the subtle glint of a gun as the butt crashed down on his head.
He groaned and dropped to a knee.
Emma screamed, and her hands pulled on his shoulders.
Then a stronger pair gripped him hard, shoved him backward. He landed on his back against her hardwood floor and the air whooshed from him.
His head swam as he watched the man step inside and shove his legs out of the way. A pulse of pain shuttered his eyes for a moment, and when he pried them open again, the stranger had locked the door and pointed the gun straight at him.
Why did he look familiar? Mason was sure he’d never met this man before.
“Hello, Emma. I see you’ve turned into quite a slut.”
Her fear vibrated through Mason, and he tried to sit up, to comfort her. Reassure her. But the man shoved him back with a booted foot on his chest.
“Stop it,” she yelled and dropped behind him. Her arms reached around him protectively. Beneath her terror he caught a rising fury.
“Easy, Emma,” he murmured.
She squeezed him. “I’m so sorry you got tangled up in this,” she said. She hiccupped lightly.
“Shut up, Emma,” the man snapped. “You brought this on yourself.”
“How?” she demanded.
“You are mine.” The lean face, topped with blond hair and penetrating eyes, twisted into an insane snarl. “You’ve always been mine.”
Recognition clicked, even as she said his name.
“You’re crazy, Charles.”
Chapter Eleven
“Noah, Madelyn, you ready?” Griff stood in the doorway of Clarissa’s office and shifted impatiently. More than thirty minutes had passed since he talked to Mason.
Now, neither he nor Emma were answering their phones.
A ball of icy dread hovered in his chest. He needed to be with them. He needed to hold and touch them.
Why weren’t they picking up?
“Yeah, let’s go.”
“Griffin,” Clarissa called his name as she rose from her desk. Worry creased her forehead, and for the first time he could remember, she looked frail. More than that, Clarissa appeared old and afraid.
“What?”
“Be careful.” She swallowed and waved a hand toward the phone. “Call me if you need anything. When you find something out.”
He nodded and left.
The trio silently piled into his car and headed for Emma’s apartment. Griff concentrated on both his driving and breathing. Control, rationality, and calmness—all blew out of the water when he pulled into her complex and found the place swarming with cops, yellow tape, and an ambulance.
He slammed on the brakes and leapt from the car to lope across the yard toward her unit. He spotted Joel sitting on the hood of her car.
“What’s happened?” he demanded when he reached the other man.
Joel looked like hell. His eyes were red rimmed, thin face devoid of color.
“They’re gone,” he said.
“What the fuck do you mean?”
Joel bristled. “I didn’t stutter, Griff. They. Are. Gone.” A shuddering sob worked its way up from his chest and exploded from his mouth in a violent burst. “The Snapshot Killer has them. The fucker has them.”
“What’s going on?” Madelyn asked. Her hand slid into his, and she squeezed in silent comfort.
Griff pulled away. “He’s got them.”
The stark words fell into the cacophony of shouts and radio squawks as cops trampled over the area. He placed his hand on Joel’s shoulder.
“How do you know it’s the Snapshot Killer?”
Joel rose and pointed at a clump of men in dress shirts and slacks. They stood at the doorway. One poked at the broken speaker box. The metal face plate dangled precariously by a few wires. “Ryan is one of the detectives on the scene. He couldn’t tell me much, but he said the bastard left a note.”
His eyes widened suddenly. “I’m supposed to tell Ryan you’re here.”
The new purpose seemed to vitalize him, and he darted across the lawn and hung over the flapping yellow crime-scene tape.
Griff shook and clenched his fists. His brain swirled and fogged, left him unable to focus or concentrate. Fear polarized him.
“Relax,” Madelyn’s soft musical voice sounded in his ear. Her hands rubbed his back. “They need you calm and alert, not a total wreck.”
Easy to say when you’re heart wasn’t frozen with worry.
He couldn’t lose them. He loved them.
A tall, muscular man bent under the tape and sauntered over to them.
“Griffin King?”
“Yes.”
The man held out his hand. “Ryan Miller. I’m sorry about this, but I need to ask you some questions.” His brown eyes sized up Madelyn and Noah, and his brow lifted in silent question.
Griff made the introductions and waited while the detective took their information.
“Can I go inside?” he demanded.
“Not yet. We need to talk first.”
Griff looked up at the apartment. He saw the people, her neighbors, poking their heads from their curtains and watching.
Where were they when this happened? Did they try to help?
“Mr. King, I understand Emma spent most of the week and all of the weekend with you?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“There was an incident with her car.” He flicked a glance at Joel. “You heard, right?”
“Yeah.”
Sympathy flared in Ryan’s eyes, followed by pure anger. Oddly enough, seeing the cop pissed help calm his own emotions. Griff finally was able to tamp the unstoppable fear and focus on right now and finding a way to help bring them safely back to him.
“Anyway, we took her home with us. Brought her back this evening.” Griff raked his hand through his hair. “Damn it, we checked her apartment. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary.”
“No sign of break-in? Nothing disturbed?”
“No. Obviously we didn’t look closely enough.”
“Nah, I’ve been in her place a dozen times. Looked at those pictures every time. They look just the same.”
“Pictures?”
Ryan sighed and flipped his notebook closed. “I’m going to take you upstairs.” He looked at the others. “You guys have to stay here.”
“But, Ryan,” Joel protested.
His boyfriend remained implacable. “Protocol, Joel.”
He turned to Griff. “Ready?”
Hell no. “Yeah.”
They trudged up the stairs. Ryan waved away an overzealous uniform from her door. He put a hand on Griff’s arm before they went inside.
“There is some blood. Not a lot, but some.”
His throat swelled. “Fuck. Whose?”
“Don’t know yet.” Ryan led him into the apartment.
It looked exactly as it had a few hours ago—save the splotch of dark red that marred the cream carpet in the living room.
The stain looked like someone spilled a glass of wine and didn’t clean it up. He swallowed hard.
“That’s not a lot?”
“No.”
He decided to take the detective’s word for it.
“Come down here and I’ll show you what I was talking about.”
They moved into the hallway, dodging a couple of people in blue overalls who were processing the scene. They carried evidence bags, dusting powder, and UV wands—all the implements from the popular television shows.
They didn’t belong in Emma’s
apartment.
“There are four,” Ryan said and pointed at a trio of pictures.
Griff remembered the shots from his first visit, but they hadn’t looked like this. The macabre distortions of Emma’s work made him gag.
“Who are they?”
“Four of the five victims of the Snapshot Killer.” Ryan’s finger moved toward the picture on the left. “We’ve identified all of them, but what makes this so fucking scary is her. That’s Lucy Goodson. She worked with Emma at Graphix.”
Griff sucked in a breath. “Shit. She ran into her at the steakhouse near Branford College earlier in the week.”
Ryan’s gaze sharpened, and he yanked out his notebook. “What time? Where? I need an exact address. Who was she with?”
“On Tuesday. Emma said she met her in the bathroom and they talked. Lucy said she was on a blind date.”
Ryan scribbled furiously.
“When did you find her body?” Griff asked, mouth dry.
“Wednesday. But she’d been dead for at least a day.”
Griff frowned. Something niggled at the back of his brain, but he couldn’t quite figure it out. A sense of pain suddenly overwhelmed him, and he gasped, clutched at his side, just above the hip.
Ryan’s hand grabbed at him. “What’s wrong?”
The pain receded, but a nagging after-burn remained. He shrugged off the detective’s hand and went back to the living room. He knelt at the pool of blood.
“Don’t touch that,” Ryan said sharply.
Griff looked up. Several eyes watched him closely. No way could he explain what he was thinking or the far-fetched idea that formed in his mind.
The pain had a familiar feel to it, just without the usual bite of pleasure.
It had all the earmarks of Mason. He was hurt.
Griff clenched his fist. He had to find them.
Now.
He rose and motioned Ryan to him. “Do you need anything else from me?”
The cop’s eyes narrowed. “What?”
“Pardon?”
“Cut the shit, Griff. I know what you are. Like me, there’s no way you’d sit back and let something like this proceed without you. So, I want to know what you’ve figured out. What you’re planning. In other words, don’t fuck up my investigation. I’d hate to have to arrest you. Emma would be beyond pissed.”
Griff glanced around the room. The nagging feeling persisted, the ache deep in his gut. Time was running out.
“I don’t have time to hold your hand and explain, but if you’re willing to give me a little leeway, and more importantly curb your disbelief, I might know a way to find them.”
Ryan’s eyes did not waver. “I have a feeling I’m going to need some damn strong Scotch after this, but all right.”
Griff spun and headed out the door, the cop right behind him. When they reached the sidewalk, Ryan stopped him once more.
“I have a few conditions,” he said.
Impatient at the delay, Griff glared at him. “You’re not in much of a position to make any.”
“Tough shit. Number one, I go in first. Wherever they are, I’m the one in charge. Second, don’t do anything to jeopardize yourself.”
“Don’t play the hero, huh?”
“Yeah.”
“If Emma and Mason are in danger, I’m not going to sit back and let you play cowboy.” He held the man’s steady gaze. “I think you know by now I can take care of myself.”
Ryan grunted. “Agreed.”
They headed to the car. He looked at the detective and Joel over the hood. “Get in.”
“Joel’s not going,” Ryan protested.
“The hell I’m not,” Joel snarled.
Griff raised a brow at the man’s ferocity.
“She’s closer to me than any damn family I have, and I’m not about to be left behind.”
“I can’t be worrying about you. It’s too dangerous.”
“Ryan, if it were your sister, would you stay behind?”
“I’m a cop, Joel. Chasing criminals is my job.”
Griff clenched his jaw as the ache suddenly flamed again. “Everyone in the damn car. We can hash it out on the way.”
It was a tight squeeze for all five of them, but as soon as everyone was buckled, Griff threw the car into reverse and sped out of the lot and shot forward. He had a demon to hunt down, and he knew of just one way to find the bastard.
During the ride, Joel and Ryan continued to argue until Madelyn, who sat in the middle of them, took each man’s hand and joined them together. “Enough. You both care deeply.” Her lightly French-accented tone held a thread of exasperation. “Together we will find her. We argue no more.”
“It’s not safe,” Ryan muttered.
“Life, cherie, is not safe,” Madelyn whispered. Her eyes met Griff’s in the mirror then flicked away. “We must charge each day with all we have. Joel loves Emma, yes?”
“Yeah, we both do.”
“I’ve known her since we were damn near in diapers,” Joel said. His voice broke, and he cleared his throat. “I love her very much.”
“Then we agree on that. We all go.”
Ryan exhaled noisily, but Griff sensed he’d given up the fight. “All right, but the same rules apply to all of you. I’m in charge, in the lead. Shit, how’d I end up with the Scooby Gang?”
Noah snorted. “Sheer luck, man, sheer luck.”
Moments later, Griff slung the car haphazardly into a spot in front of the Council and dashed from the car.
He slammed open the front door, and Susan half-screeched and rose, alarm on her face. “Griff. What’s wrong?”
“I need to see Clarissa. Is the American Scry still here?”
“Well, yes, but they’re in a meeting.”
He ran past her, the footsteps of his entourage close behind. Susan’s voice was high and tight as she protested.
He didn’t bother to knock, but burst into Clarissa’s office.
She stood with her back to the window and lifted a brow. He noted she did not look one whit surprised.
His gaze landed on Wes Blackelk, the Scry. “I need your help,” Griff said baldly.
“Griffin,” Clarissa said, voice calm but crisp. “What is going on?”
“Mason and Emma have been kidnapped.”
Her pale skin went even more luminescent, and she swayed. She caught herself on the windowsill. “Are you certain?”
“Yes.” He looked at the Scry. “You’re the only way we can find them. I need you to focus on Mason. Can you pinpoint his specific location?”
The man rose. He was tall and slender, nearly cadaverous in his build. Long black hair hung in a straight line down his back, and his rich, umber-tinted skin bespoke his Native American heritage. He grimaced. “It doesn’t work exactly like that.”
A spiral of fear lanced through him. It was the only way.
The Scry started moving things off the center of Clarissa’s desk. “I can give you a general location.”
“To within how close?” Ryan’s voice sounded, deep and impatient.
The tone mirrored his own feelings.
“Less than a quarter mile.”
“Good enough,” Griff said.
“Yes,” Ryan agreed. “We have the man power to search that kind of radius.” He shared a look with Joel. “God only knows how I’m going to explain this knowledge, though.”
“I suggest a tip,” Clarissa said as she returned to behind her desk. She looked at Noah and Madelyn. “Are you two part of this?”
Noah nodded. “We are.”
“Good, because I don’t like this,” Clarissa said with ferocity. “No one hurts an Enricher and gets away with it.”
The Scry laid a piece of paper from the printer on her now-barren desk. He picked up a pencil and placed it in the center, point lightly pressed to the page. He motioned Griff forward.
“It might be easier since I know his name. You share a mental link with him, no? You have sensed his emotions before?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Take my hand, close your eyes, and picture Mason.”
Griff did as he was instructed. He built Mason’s lithe frame, smiling face, and boyish enthusiasm with careful, deliberate steps. He wanted to give the Scry as clear a picture as possible.
The room was eerily silent. No one moved or spoke or even breathed from what he could tell. Mason’s image wavered.
“Concentrate,” came the snapped command.
He refocused his attention on Mason. The pain in his side intensified, but he pressed his palm to the ache and stared into Mason’s blue eyes.
A light scratch sounded from the desk, then another. The Scry gave a low rumble, and then a soft chant. His fingers tightened, threatened to break Griff’s.
Then he was free.
“I have him,” the Scry said.
Chapter Twelve
“Charles, please, be reasonable,” Emma pleaded with him. But she knew he was long past rational thought.
She tugged at her bound arms, but he’d been as proficient with the duct tape as Mason had been with the Japanese bondage rope.
Charles had forced her arms behind her, wrapped them together, and then taped them to the chair back. He’d spread her legs wider than was comfortable and repeated the process. Her inner thigh tendons screamed in agony.
“Do be quiet, Emma. I’m debating over here.”
He stood in front of Mason, his gun dangling with scary disregard from one finger. He twirled it occasionally like a fifth-grade boy playing Cowboys and Indians.
Mason groaned and lifted his head. His beautiful face was covered in bruises and small cuts, inflicted by Charles and his damned college class ring.
Mason’s left eye was swollen shut and already an alarming mottled shade of red, blue, and purple.
But it was the gunshot wound in his left abdomen that worried Emma the most. She would never forget the dry-mouthed fear that ricocheted through her when Charles had casually pressed the gun to Mason’s side and pulled the trigger.
“Missed any vital organs, I assure you,” he’d said. “But that can easily change.”
Her refusal to leave with him had caused the injury, and she’d whispered tearful apologies to Mason as she’d helped him down the stairs and into Charles’s car.
Enlightened [Sexual Magic 2] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) Page 21
