Diabolical (Shaye Archer Series Book 3)

by Jana DeLeon

  10

  Reagan stiffened when she heard the door creak open. It was at the top of a set of narrow stone steps and was solid wood. She’d tried pounding on it but it barely moved, and no matter how much she shouted, no one ever heard her. Wherever this hole was, it wasn’t near people, or it was so well insulated that sound didn’t carry far enough for others to hear. The bottom line was, the door offered no way out, and it was the only way into the room.

  The man’s footsteps sounded on the steps and she backed into the corner. It was a reflexive action that did no good. The man locked the door after entering. Even if she could run past him, she didn’t have the key to get out. And despite the fact that she was in good shape and fairly strong for a girl, there was no way her ninety pounds was any match for his six-two, two-hundred-pound frame. She’d tried kicking him once, a really good shot right in his crotch, but he’d laughed at her and said she was turning him on. She never tried it again.

  Light from the lamp he always carried trickled down the stairs and into the room. A couple seconds later, she saw his blue jean–clad legs as he descended. She flattened against the wall even more, hoping this was one of those times he left food and went away. It was worse when he spoke to her. He paused at the bottom of the steps and she sucked in a breath. No matter how many times she saw the mask, it chilled her to the bone. She’d never seen anything so horrific in her life. She’d never been so frightened of an inanimate object.

  The mask turned slowly and his eyes locked on hers. Immediately, she dropped her gaze, unable to take his dead-eyed stare through the demon mask. He laughed and despite the heat and humidity, a chill ran through her and she shivered. His laugh was almost as bad as the mask. Mocking her fear. Excited by it.

  He reached out with his left hand and dropped a paper bag on the floor. The scent of cooked ground meat wafted over to her and her mouth watered. He only brought food once a day, sometimes less, and it was never enough. Sometimes one hamburger, sometimes two. Once a small pizza, but never enough food to keep her strength up. Every day she grew a little weaker, and she assumed that was exactly what he wanted.

  He stared at her several more seconds, then turned and headed back up the steps. She waited until she heard him lock the door before moving to the center of the room to feel for the food. She located the bag and sank onto the ground beside it, digging inside to see what he’d left.

  Two hamburgers today.

  That meant he either was being generous or wasn’t planning on coming at all the next day. He’d done that before. She pulled out one of the burgers and took a huge bite, washing it down with the soda he’d put in with the burgers. She barely chewed before swallowing and started to take another bite but hesitated. If she was ever going to get out of here, there was only one way, and that was catching him by surprise.

  Locked in this dungeon, the one thing she did have was plenty of time to think, but no matter how many ideas she’d rolled around in her mind, only one was viable. She had to get the jump on him to steal the key and get out the door. She’d found a piece of stone that had broken off at the end of the wall where the steps entered the room. It was a little longer than her hand, and she’d been sharpening it against the stone wall for a day now. The edge was getting sharp. She just needed to get the end more pointed and it would be ready. Kicking him in the crotch might not have inflicted enough pain but surely stabbing him there would.

  The hard part was faking being unconscious. That meant figuring out when the food was drugged and not eating it, which meant taking a single bite and waiting to see if she felt any aftereffects. Taking a single bite and waiting, even though she was starving.

  As the aroma of the burger filled her nostrils, her stomach growled and clenched, begging her to take another bite and ease its discomfort. But she couldn’t do it. Not if she was going to escape. If she could escape, she’d find another way to live. Maybe call that social services lady.

  And she’d never, ever go hungry again.

  Shaye stood under the stream of hot water, letting it run over her shoulders and down her back and chest. She’d already scrubbed every inch of her body with exfoliating gel and no longer felt the slick red fabric on her skin. The overwhelming urge to burn the gown as soon as she got out of the shower dominated her thoughts for a while, but ultimately, she convinced herself that the garment might be needed in the future. The last thing she wanted to do was have another shopping trip over that particular item, so she’d find someplace to lock it up, along with the candles, until she was ready to use them again or until this was over for good.

  Her relief at seeing Jackson at her door was huge. She’d dreaded looking through the crack because her first thought was that it was her mother outside. If Corrine knew what Shaye had done and had seen the direct effect it had on her, Shaye would never have another moment’s peace again. Corrine would have badgered her to move back in with her, and when Shaye refused, she would have insisted on the bodyguards Pierce kept threatening her with.

  Shaye knew she was extraordinarily lucky to have Corrine, Pierce, and Eleonore taking care of her, but sometimes it made her feel claustrophobic. She worked hard to control her aggravation when it felt as if they were pushing her too hard toward what they wanted rather than listening to what she wanted. Meeting Hustle had made her even more aware of what it was like to care about someone and feel hopeless to help them, so it wasn’t as though she couldn’t empathize. But lately, everyone had gotten more intense. The Clancy journals and her biological mother’s turning up had put an enormous strain on everyone, and she was feeling the pressure.

  Jackson was a safe island in a stormy sea. She knew he didn’t necessarily like or agree with the risks she took, but he never once suggested that she stop. Instead, he requested only that she be well prepared for the undertaking and ask him to help when the risk was too great. She’d scared him today. That had been apparent. His asking her to never attempt a repeat performance unless he was present was indicative of his fear, even if his expression hadn’t been a dead giveaway.

  In the past, and with anyone else, she would have been annoyed by the request, but Jackson never made her feel as though he was intruding. His presence always felt like assistance and sometimes guidance, but never control.

  Admit it. You like him.

  Fine. So she liked him. What wasn’t to like?

  You like him as more than a friend.

  She turned off the shower and reached for a towel. Her feelings for Jackson had moved beyond just friendship a while back. Or maybe they’d been that way from the beginning. Certainly, she’d never felt so comfortable with a man, especially so soon. But right from the start, she’d known that Jackson was different. The question was what she intended to do about it.

  Her life, which was always complicated at best, was in a huge state of turmoil right now. It probably wasn’t possible to find a worse time to pursue a romantic relationship, and yet every day that passed that she had avoided seeing Jackson in person, the more she’d missed him. The more she’d thought about him.

  She dried off and pulled on yoga pants and a tee, then headed back into the living room. Jackson was sitting on the couch, watching car racing and eating a cookie. He looked up when she walked in.

  “I hope you don’t mind,” he said. “I helped myself to a beer and cookies. You mom is a dangerous woman in a kitchen. Does she bake like this all the time? These are the best cookies I’ve ever eaten.”

  “When she’s stressed, she takes it up a notch. Right now, she’s taken her notch up a notch. I’ll be on a treadmill for the rest of the year working those things off. But how were you so sure I didn’t make them?”

  She meant it as a joke, but the flash of guilt on Jackson’s face told an entirely different story. He stared at her for several seconds, like he was assessing her.

  “Are you feeling better?” he asked.

  “You came here to tell me something, didn’t you? My mother baked those particular cookies this mornin
g, but you wouldn’t know that unless you’d been to see her. Why?”

  “A lot has happened today,” Jackson said. “We have some time before the food gets here. Maybe you should sit down.”

  She chided herself for not seeing this coming. Jackson wouldn’t stop by just because. Their relationship wasn’t so close that drop-bys were the norm, but she’d been so relieved to see him when she’d opened the door that she hadn’t taken that thought a step further and wondered why he was there. She sank onto the couch and waited.

  When nothing was forthcoming, she said, “Look, I know it can’t be good or you wouldn’t be here. So lay it on me. I promise my head is clear and I’m ready for whatever you have to say.”

  “This is confidential information, but as it concerns you, I have permission to let you know,” he said finally. “The team reviewing Clancy’s logbooks have made some headway in breaking the code on parts of them. One of the names they decoded was the man who bought you.”

  She jumped up from the couch, staring at Jackson as if he’d lost his mind. “You know who he is and you’re sitting there? Why aren’t you mounting a cavalry? Why aren’t you busting down doors?”

  “Because it’s not a formal name. It looks like Clancy listed all the buyers by nicknames.”

  “Which was?”

  “Diabolique.”

  Shaye blew out a breath. “Diabolical. Jesus. How appropriate.”

  Jackson nodded. “His actions were enough to warrant it, but now that you remembered the mask, it’s downright creepy.”

  She sank back down onto the couch. “So you still don’t know anything about him. Not really.”

  His expression turned grim. “We know one thing. He purchased another girl last month.”

  The blood rushed out of her face and her stomach rolled. “Oh my God. You’re sure?”

  “It’s the same nickname. I can’t imagine that Clancy would reuse one.”

  “What about Reaper—Clancy’s son? He wasn’t working with Clancy when he sold me, but he was last month. He has to know something. I know he’s refused to help decode the journals unless he gets to walk, but I’m beyond caring about his rights. Go to the jail and force it out of him or let me.”

  “It was the first thing the lead detective thought to do. Unfortunately, it wasn’t an option. Reaper hung himself with his bedsheet last night. The story hasn’t been released to the press yet, but it will probably hit tomorrow.”

  The momentary hope she’d felt dissipated completely. “Coward.”

  “Definitely.”

  “Have you started the search for the girl?” Shaye asked. “Do you know who she is?”

  “We’ve started a search to identify her. That’s where your mother came in. The database for missing and exploited children didn’t turn up anything.”

  “So you thought my mother might be able to find a match in one of the case files.” Jackson’s visit to her mother’s house made sense now.

  He nodded. “It’s a long shot, but we have to start somewhere.”

  “What do you know about her?”

  “Only the date of purchase and her age—fifteen years old.”

  “The same age I was when I got away.”

  “Yeah. I have this theory about that,” he said, and explained what he’d shared with Grayson and her mother and Eleonore.

  She leaned toward him, focusing on every single word, her mind processing the facts and the theory. When he finished she sat back. “You think he’s picking up where he left off? Nine years later?”

  “Maybe. God knows, it wouldn’t be the craziest thing we’ve seen lately, especially given what you remembered tonight.”

  “That’s true enough, but…” She blew out a breath. “What can I do?”

  “I don’t think there’s anything you can do except what you’re already doing—trying to remember.” He ran one hand through his hair. “Look, I told you all of this because I knew you’d hear it from Corrine anyway, and I didn’t want you to think I was giving her information concerning you behind your back, but I didn’t know you were going to do something like you did today.”

  “What difference does that make?”

  “It was risky. It took a hell of a lot out of you. I don’t want you to feel additional pressure to remember. If anything, putting more pressure on yourself will make it even harder to unlock your memory. And I don’t want you taking even bigger risks. You have your own health to consider.”

  Irritation coursed through her. “Do you think I’m that fragile? That I’ll break?”

  “I think you’re the strongest person I’ve ever met. And I think everyone can break.”

  It wasn’t the answer she wanted to hear, but it was an honest one. So far, she’d managed to maintain control of her emotions, with only a few lapses, like today. But she knew better than most that everyone had a breaking point. Sooner or later, the brain turned off to protect itself. Like with her memory loss. She had no doubt her missing memory was self-preservation, and believed that it was only returning now because she was emotionally healthy enough to handle it.

  Maybe she’d been wrong.

  Maybe she was forcing an issue rather than allowing it to develop in its own time. But with another child missing, she couldn’t back off now. She’d set off on this path, and she was more determined than ever to see it to the end.

  The doorbell rang, and Jackson jumped up from the couch. “I’ve got it,” he said.

  Shaye watched as he paid the deliveryman and returned with a large paper bag. He placed it on the coffee table and pulled out the containers.

  “Don’t get up,” he said. “Just tell me what you want to drink.”

  “Diet soda,” she said, her emotions shifting from horrified to angry.

  Jackson sat a soda on the coffee table and took his seat again.

  “We’re going to get this son of a bitch,” she said.

  “Yes. We are.”

  She reached for a crab Rangoon and something Jackson said struck her. “Why was Grayson with you at my mom’s?”

  “Because I officially have a new partner.”

  Shaye perked up a bit. That was really good news in a sea of crap. “Congratulations! That’s great.”

  He nodded. “I’m sure I don’t have to explain to you how happy and relieved I am. I also owe you, big time.”

  “Me?”

  “Yeah, I hear Vincent tried to railroad me with IA and you took him down.”

  “All I did was report my displeasure at being accused of impropriety to Captain Bernard.”

  “Well, I would have loved to have been a fly on the wall. Grayson said Bernard yelled so loud the walls shook.”

  “What did he do with Vincent?”

  “Moved him to work on the Clancy journals. But—” He held up a hand before she said anything. “He will only be scanning and filing. He won’t have access to any information concerning the decoding, and the detective in charge is under strict orders that Vincent is not to ever have knowledge of anything concerning you.”

  “And you think that will hold?”

  “Only a few people know about your name being in those books. Vincent is too lazy to attempt to solve a case, and he has no reason to suspect that digging into the Clancy files would produce something that he could use against you.”

  She shook her head. “I know everyone is doing what they can, but you and I both know that this information won’t remain secret forever. Quite frankly, I’m surprised nothing has leaked before now. Every day I turn on the news and wait for the bomb to drop—at least about my biological mother. More people know about that, and even more people have access to those records.”

  “And when it happens, we’ll deal with it, but with any luck, the secrets will hold for a while longer, at least until we find this guy.”

  “I hope so. If this gets out, the media storm will be worse than a hurricane. If he knows we’re onto him, even a little, he’ll kill the girl and flee.”

  “That’s n
ot going to happen.”

  “You think if you keep telling yourself that, then it will come true?”

  “You have a better idea?”

  She sighed. “No. I guess not.”

  11

  Sunday, July 26, 2015

  French Quarter, New Orleans, Louisiana

  Harold Beaumont leaned back in the chair and looked out his hotel window. Despite the fine furnishings and comfortable bed, he’d barely slept at all and his body was sore from all that bouncing around in the back of Old Joe’s truck. The effects of aging often annoyed him but at the moment, he’d moved straight past annoyed and directly to aggravated. His mind was as good as it had always been, and for that, he was thankful, but when it came to the physical side of things, he wasn’t near the man he used to be. And that bothered him more than he’d ever admit out loud, especially right now, when he had a feeling a little more strength and endurance might come in handy.

  He’d just finished off an excellent breakfast, courtesy of room service, while he waited for Bob to wake up and get moving. Sunday had always been his day to sleep late, and Harold couldn’t think of any good reason to force his old partner out of bed when there was nothing he could do with the information Harold was going to give him until tonight. Besides, if he woke Harold up on Sunday, his wife would know something was up. Susan was a great woman but she had a nose like a bloodhound. If she thought Bob was poking his nose into an open investigation, especially anything that involved Shaye Archer and John Clancy, Bob would never hear the end of it.

  He checked his watch and decided that eleven o’clock was a good enough time as any to call his friend. “I’m here,” he said when Bob answered. “Can you talk?”

  “Yeah. Susan just ran out to pick up some lunch. You made it all right then?”

  “Went off without a hitch. You got that information for me?”

  “Of course.” He gave Harold Shaye’s home address and cell phone number. “You aren’t thinking of going to her apartment, are you?”