“What are you debating?” she asked.
Keep him talking. Keep him distracted.
“How I’m going to kill him, of course.” Charles looked at her, one pale brow lifted in mock chagrin. “And when. Before or after.”
She licked her lips. She’d known he was not for her, but how had she missed the fact that he was completely off his rocker?
“Before or after what?”
Charles beamed like she was a student who’d given a correct answer. He moved away from Mason, and Emma relaxed just a bit. He strode across the small room, lit by a bank of overhead fluorescents and bordered by rows of industrial-looking counters. Beakers, microscopes, and Bunsen burners littered the tops.
Charles laid the gun next to a clear plastic box. He opened the lid and pulled out several vials and a syringe.
She bucked.
“Before or after what, Charles?” she asked with more demand.
“Our union, dear Emma.”
Mason muttered something on the floor and scooted toward her.
“Don’t get too close,” Charles chastised mildly. “I’d hate to have to shoot out your knees.”
Mason stopped, but hatred burned from his eye.
Calm down, she mouthed to him. Ridiculous, she knew, but maybe it would help.
From the anger rolling off of him, she knew it hadn’t.
“I don’t understand any of this,” she said. “What union? Why me?”
Charles filled a syringe, squirted some liquid into the air, and put the shot in his tweed coat pocket. God, if she ever saw another piece of tweed, she would rip it to shreds.
“We were meant to be, you know. You and I. It was perfect. Our profiles matched exactly. You are smart and beautiful and funny. You have aspirations and creative talents. You are balanced.”
“Unlike you,” she couldn’t help but mutter.
He picked up the gun and shot at Mason. The bullet missed him by centimeters. She swallowed fear-induced bile.
“Watch your mouth, Emma or the next one will find his heart and he’ll just have to miss the wedding.”
“Wedding?”
The man was certifiably loony. He was crazier than crazy. She bit back her instant refusal because she didn’t want to upset him any more than she already had.
“Yes.” He leaned against the counter and crossed his arms as he regarded her with a mildly reproachful look. “I must admit I’m very disappointed in you, Emma. It’s your fault they are dead.”
“Mine?” she whispered.
“Yes.” He lifted his hand and began ticking off fingers. “Geri—she was first—was the night you refused to see me again. The night you told me—how did you put it? Get lost and never call you again? Oh, I was very angry. You needed to be taught a lesson.” He gave her a fond smile. “Except I couldn’t hurt you, of course. So, I found a reasonable substitute. She looks very similar to you, did you know? Same long dark hair and bewitching green eyes, except hers don’t have that feminine mystique yours do. And her body is a little thicker, too.” Charles clucked his tongue, and she stared at him in horror.
“She really could have used a few more hours in the gym. She was cold, too. A regular ice queen. That’s why I put her at the fountain for that picture.” He raked her with his gaze and strode forward. He squatted in front of her and cupped her chin.
Emma recoiled at his touch, and his grip tightened. He tipped her face left then right. “No, you see, I made a mistake with her, I realize that now.”
His mint-sweetened breath wafted over her. It competed with the spicy cologne he wore. She choked back hysteria. Cologne, breath mints, a thousand-watt smile, sun-dappled blond hair, and a sculpted visage that would have made Michelangelo weep with joy —Charles gave every outward sign of being the perfect man.
Too bad he destroyed the image with an overdose of crazy.
“What mistake?” she forced herself to ask.
Behind Charles, Mason inched sideways. Toward the counter. Toward the gun.
His determination, fueled by his absolute rage, beat at her, and she silently urged him on.
“She wasn’t enough like you, unfortunately.” He grimaced. “And her voice was horrible. Like the screech of a seagull on the Wharf. That’s far enough, Mr. Shaw. Or would you like Emma to pay for your disobedience?”
Her nostrils flared with fear when Charles pulled out the syringe. “It’s not lethal. Well”—his smile was bright and dead—“not yet.”
Mason stopped moving.
“Number two was Annie. She was a bit more difficult. I had to really turn on the charm for her. I left her at Carson Bridge, just in the spot you like so much.”
Emma widened her eyes to keep from rolling them. She didn’t reply.
“Her coloring was just a bit off, but close enough. Her personality is what kept me interested in her, though. She was feisty, full of zest. Just like you.”
He shifted.
Didn’t his quads hurt? He must be getting tired from that position, more vulnerable.
If she could just muster enough force to knock into him, Mason might be able to use the distraction to get to the gun.
“She had your body structure, too. I loved her legs. Long and lean.” He studied hers critically. “She was a runner, that Annie.” His dead eyes flickered with amusement. “She ran, you know. Through the woods, screaming for help. Pity there was no one there to hear her. To help her.”
He sounded quite pleased with himself, as though he’d taken care of every possible detail. The thought made her stomach pitch and roll. He had thought of everything, right down to the chair and duct tape that awaited them here.
He took nothing for chance or granted.
Emma closed her eyes as her last bit of hope started to sputter.
“I caught her, though.” His chuckle was devious. “Four was Rachel. She was fun. She begged very nicely. Took her to Standing Stone Park. I knew where I wanted her when I killed her. Right in the center of those rocks. You remember them, don’t you? The trip you took out there last year to photograph them?”
How had he known that? She’d not even met him then.
“Ah, surprised you, didn’t I? Well…” He patted her knee and rose. He stretched his back and looked like nothing more than a relaxed, at-ease man ready for bed. “It’s amazing what one can do with the right set of computer forensic tools, Emma. The first time, I found all sorts of interesting things about your past.”
“The first time? You were in my house more than once?”
“Of course. It was soon to be mine as well, wasn’t it? As soon as I brought you ’round. That night at My Favorite Martini I knew it was the right time. But then you were meeting that man. And I knew you needed another lesson.” He winked as he spun and made for Mason again. He knelt and slapped Mason a couple of times until his eye opened.
“You’re insane,” Mason said.
Another slap, this one loud and echoing in the room. “Mind your tongue, Mr. Shaw, lest I’m forced to remove it for you.”
“Charles,” Emma said, desperate to regain his attention and pull him away from Mason. “What about number three? Where is she?”
He released his victim and stood, his face a mask of disgust. “That was an error in judgment, and I prefer not to discuss it.”
“How was it a mistake?”
He shrugged, pulled out the syringe. “Decision time, Emma. Are you going to marry me the easy way or the hard way?”
Neither!
A low blackness built around her, pressed in on her, and she struggled to free her mind. From the opposite direction, another pit of anger swirled and beat at her. She blinked away the shadows. “Charles,” she said slowly. “What do you think is going to happen afterward?”
His handsome face softened. “Babies?” he asked, tone hopeful.
A strangled cry came from the ground, and Charles spun to look at Mason even as the door blew inward.
“No,” Charles screamed and leapt for the gun
, but Mason tripped him.
Ryan and Griff rushed into the room, followed by Joel and two people she didn’t know. “Help Mason,” she said. “He’s been shot.”
Ryan hauled Charles to his feet.
“Be careful,” she yelled, but it was too late.
Charles plunged the syringe into Ryan’s neck, and the cop went down like a three-dollar hooker.
Like two tornadoes streaking toward each other, the black anger and the low wail collided and exploded in her mind. Emma whimpered.
Charles stiffened and howled. He grabbed his head then dropped to his knees. He gagged and flopped onto his side.
The crescendo continued to build and rise, to scream its fury and destruction. Emma watched the blackness descend and cover him. She felt the absolute horror and fury coming from Griff and Mason.
A burn as great as hell lapped at the edges of her mind, and her vision narrowed to one small point, filled with only Griff and Mason.
The pain and fury threatened to overwhelm her. To break and destroy her. Dark voices hissed and slithered in her mind, and she groaned again.
From the ground, Charles screamed again. A low litany of pleadings fell from his mouth then the wall of blackness fully engulfed him. And then it claimed him. The world went silent, and he finally collapsed.
Emma breathed a sigh of relief, the tension drained from her limbs, and she started to shake.
She winced as whoever was behind her tore off the duct tape and pulled her arms from their long-held position. Blood rushed back into her body, and tingles of awareness filtered through every pore.
She had to pee.
“See to Mason,” she croaked. “Is he okay?”
Her tongue was heavy and awkward. Did they understand her?
“Go, Noah,” a woman’s soft tones directed. “I’ll take care of Emma.”
The bindings on her legs dropped off, and Emma started to rise, but the woman held her down. “Wait. Let the feeling come back into your legs.”
Emma twisted to look up at her and felt her eyes widen at the woman’s beauty. Eyes the color of a warm sea fringed by waves of the blackest eyelashes contrasted sharply against her milky white skin. She appeared flawless, save the small scar on her elfin chin. Situated just below her full lower lip, the divot only enhanced her appearance, made her seem more real and approachable.
“Thank you,” Emma said and looked at the tangle of bodies in front of her. Ryan and Charles were still as corpses, and she sucked in a breath. “Are they okay?”
“Patience, cherie.”
“Who are you?” she asked more to take her mind from the scene than any real curiosity. The numbness that throbbed at her mind was buffeted by strikes of pain, terror, and determination.
A warmth soon invaded her consciousness. A deep sense of protection, affection, and love wrapped around her.
“I’m Madelyn,” the woman said. “I’m an Enricher.”
“Can you stop the bleeding?” Griff’s soft-pitched question reached her ears, and Emma could no longer remain seated. She ran to them, dropped to her knees, and cradled Mason’s pale, exhausted face in her hands.
Tears streaked down her cheeks, and she looked at both men in mute supplication. Griff covered her hands with his, and the warmth surged from him to her and into Mason.
He moaned softly, and his eyes fluttered open. Emma gasped and leaned down, bumping heads with Griff.
“Hey, Mace, how ya doing?” Griff’s voice was tense, nervous.
Mason’s blurred, cloudy gaze found hers. “Love you,” he rasped then coughed. Blood dotted his lips.
“Shh,” she said, tears blurring her vision. “Don’t talk. Rest.”
“No,” he wheezed. He grabbed for her hand, then Griff’s.
“Griff. Love her. Know you do.”
“Hush, buddy, help is on the way.” He looked over his shoulder at the black-haired hulk of a man. “Damn it, Noah, get over here.”
“Griff,” Mason demanded weakly. “Take care of her. Always. Love her for both of us.”
His eyelashes fluttered, and his eyes rolled to the back of his head. He lapsed into unconsciousness again.
Noah grunted and gently shunted them out of the way. “Do not interfere,” he said.
He clapped his hands together and rubbed furiously until finally he laid his palms to Mason’s side.
Mason gasped and thrashed, but the man did not release him.
Griff pulled Emma back, and she curled into his side, watching with wide, apprehensive eyes.
At last, the man lifted his hands and bowed his head. “I can do no more.”
Mason remained frightfully still, but behind them came a deep groan.
“Ryan? Are you all right?” Joel’s voice quavered on the question.
Emma scooted on her butt and looked at her friends. Ryan sat up and held his head in both hands, a deep frown cut across his forehead. “What happened?”
“Charles got the jump on you,” Joel said. “Stabbed you with something in a needle.”
“We need to bag it.”
Joel’s laugh was watery. “Always the cop, my love.”
Ryan smiled and hauled him into his arms and hugged him tight. Over Joel’s head, he met her eyes. “You okay, Em?”
“Yes,” she said. “Thanks to you guys. How’d you find us, anyway?”
“Ask Superfreak over there,” he said and tipped his chin at Griff.
“We used the Scry,” Griff answered. “Difficult to explain.”
“Later?”
“Yeah.” His worried glance went back to Mason, who remained unmoving. “Ryan, when is that damn backup going to get here? We need an ambulance.”
“They’re on their way,” he replied. His frown deepened. “What’s with him?” he pointed at Charles.
The room went quiet. Emma noticed none of the Enrichers commented, though they all looked resolute.
She leaned back in Griff’s arms and caressed his tense jaw. “It’s all right. You saved us.”
“It was dangerous.”
“It worked.”
“What the hell is it?” Ryan demanded.
She sighed and cuddled back to Griff’s side. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you, Ry.”
He snorted. “After all of this, I’m willing to believe in a hell of a lot.”
The blare of sirens filled the room, and screeching tires then slamming doors echoed from outside. Voices shouted “clear” as the police made their way through the building—Emma realized she still had no clue where Charles had brought them—then they spilled into the room. They were saviors in blue holding lethal-looking guns and grim expressions.
“We need a bus,” Ryan said. “Two wounded.” He indicated Mason and Charles then pointed in her direction. “One for observation.”
“Two,” Joel said fiercely.
Ryan gained his feet with a wince. “I’m fine.”
“You look like shit, Miller. You need to be checked out.” A woman in a pantsuit strode into the room, a badge hung around her neck by a ball-bearing chain. “After you tell me what the hell happened here and why you charged in without backup.”
“Sorry, chief,” Ryan said. “I had a fast tip I couldn’t ignore.”
The woman’s eyes narrowed on him. “What tip? From where?”
“Chief,” Ryan stepped aside and pointed at Charles. “This is the Snapshot Killer.”
Chapter Thirteen
Emma curled into the uncomfortable hospital chair and watched Mason’s chest slowly rise and fall. The beep and blips of the machines hooked up to him provided a steady, reassuring soundtrack.
Griff stood near the window, staring into the murky depths of the night and orange glows of the parking lot lights. His shoulders were set in a taut line. She’d asked him to sit several times, each suggestion rebuffed with a curt head shake.
He’d not spoken to her since their rescue from the medical warehouse Charles had taken them to. His shocked tangle of emotions battered
her though, despite the lack of Mason’s channeling. Emma could feel Griff’s sorrow and anguish on her own.
Emma sighed and plucked at the threads of a hole in her shirt. Somehow, in the scuffle she supposed, a rip began near her right breast. The blue knit was slowly unraveling, and each time she tugged, the hole grew larger, but she just couldn’t seem to stop herself.
She ran her gaze over Mason’s still form and silently begged him to awaken. Past the shock and lingering fear, a warmth unfurled in her. He loved her.
Granted, it was a deathbed confession—or so he thought—but his declaration still filled her wounded heart with pleasure and with hope.
She flicked another glance at Griff and found him staring intently at her. She straightened, one hand automatically smoothing over the tangles of her hair.
A small grin kicked up the corner of his mouth. “You look beautiful,” he said.
“Liar,” she retorted softly.
Griff moved to the end of Mason’s hospital bed. He caressed the blanket-clad legs and closed his eyes for a brief second.
His hand fell away, and he walked toward her.
Emma scooted to the edge of the chair, prepared to stand, but he held up a palm and squatted in front of her.
He gripped her thighs and stroked her just as he had Mason. “Emma, I—” His voice broke and he cleared his throat. “What happened in there, with you and Charles and Mason—I’m so sorry. I should have protected you better.”
“Oh, Griff,” she said and cupped his cheek. “You couldn’t have. We had no way of knowing.”
He tipped his head into her palm and nuzzled, placing a light kiss in the center of her skin. A warm tingle blossomed.
“So sweet, so forgiving.”
She smiled through a sheen of tears.
“Emma, what Mason said in the warehouse—” Griff abruptly fell silent, the muscles in his jaw ticking beneath her hand.
She held her breath, wavering between fear and hope. Was he going to tell her that Mason was wrong? That he, Griff, didn’t love her, too?
Her mind steeled itself for the rejection even as her heart swelled with optimism.
“What about it?” she whispered, stroking the bristles on his jaw.
Darkness clouded his face before he heaved a long breath and met her eyes. “He was right. I do love you.”
Enlightened [Sexual Magic 2] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) Page 22
