by Abbie Roads
Her body unclenched, and she relaxed against the headboard with an exaggerated sigh. As the initial in-your-face shock wore off, she could actually see him. See the humanity in his features. Something his father would never possess. And if he’d meant her harm, she would have felt the energy of his foul intentions.
“I know you.” Her voice was softer and held a bit of wonder in its palm.
“I’m not him.” He repeated the sentence, nothing in his tone changing, but she saw something in his eyes—through his eyes. Sadness. Resolve. And just a hint of fear. That was her undoing. That he could be scared of her—wow.
“I-I know. You’re Cain.” His name came out in hard vowels and sharp consonants.
He held her gaze for moment, then shoved his hands in his jeans pockets and looked down at the floor.
Silence stretched between them.
For years, she’d imagined what it would be like to have a conversation with him. Even from her first glimpse of him as a child on the TV, she’d recognized something in his eyes. Her eyes had that same scarred look. The look of having experienced something so painful that it marked more than their bodies—it left gaping wounds on their souls. There was an unspoken solidarity in their shared pain.
But in all her fantasies of connecting with the only other person who knew firsthand the evils of Killion, she’d never once thought there’d be this much silence.
Obviously, it was going to be up to her to make the first move.
“You know”—she cleared her throat, trying to go for a friendly tone—“over the years, I had thought about finding you. It always seemed like we had a bad bond of sorts. I just never did it because I didn’t know how you’d react.”
That got his attention. He raised his gaze to meet hers, the hard angles of his face easing just a bit.
He looked at the scar on her neck while he spoke. “I’d thought about the same thing.” His words were spoken with a tentative quality, as if he worried about her response. “But I always wondered if I would remind you of…” He didn’t say the name.
“You look similar to him on the surface, but I see beyond the surface to you.” She emphasized the word you. Wanted him to understand she didn’t equate him with his father. “You also look different to me somehow. Maybe it’s your eyes. Maybe it’s how you look at me. So different than he did.” She held her hand out to him. “Nice to meet you, Cain. I’m Mercy.”
One second. Two. Three. Four. Five… Finally he stepped toward her and grasped her hand in his. His grip was firm and dry, his skin rough and wonderful, his touch magnetic and hypnotizing. She got lost in the sensation of total connection. Of there being no boundaries between them, almost as if their skin, muscles, and bones had melded together into one—
He yanked his hand away so suddenly that hers was left out there in midair, still holding the shadow of where his had been. Something was wrong. She just didn’t know him well enough to understand.
He aimed his eyes toward the floor again. “You’ve been pretty sick. You went through the vomit stage. The fever stage. The drunk, flirty stage was my personal favorite.” A smile almost grabbed hold of his lips, but missed. “The crying stage.” He sucked in a breath and spoke while he exhaled. “The scared-of-me stage.”
The way he said those last words made him sound more like a little boy trying to be brave than six feet of hard-muscled male—who also happened to resemble a serial killer. His tone made her want to reach out to him and offer comfort, but he was so skittish with her that she didn’t dare.
“This”—he gestured with his head to indicate her and the cabin—“wasn’t my intention. It was all because of Liz. She—”
“Liz?” The nurse had always been the only staff member Mercy trusted. “How do you know Liz?”
“I’ve known her since I was a child.”
Of course. Killion had been the custodian at the Center, a fact Dr. Payne never allowed her to forget.
“We’ve kept in contact over the years. She’s my…” He stopped like he was searching for the right word. “Friend. Anyway, I’m a consultant for the FBI. Almost a week ago, I found a link between a current case and yours.”
It wasn’t like he’d suddenly started speaking a foreign language, but Mercy couldn’t quite wrap her mind around what he was saying. And he knew it. He’d stopped speaking, his gaze searching her face for…something she couldn’t name, something she didn’t understand.
She fought to find the words she needed to say. “Killion is in prison.” When she said the name, Cain flinched as if she’d slapped him.
“Yes, he is, but we still needed to speak with you.” Cain wouldn’t look at her. Did she look that terrible?
She listened as he explained how MacNeil Anderson—she remembered him from all those years ago—had tried to talk with her, but Dr. Payne had denied him. So Cain had sought Liz’s go-around-the-rules help. “When Liz wheeled you out the door”—he shook his head—“it was pretty plain what Dr. Payne had done to you.”
As he told her all the ways Dr. Payne had hurt her, Mercy’s mind searched for some memory to attach to those events, but it kept coming up with a big fat nothing. And yet she didn’t doubt Cain for a moment. Dr. Payne had been playing a game with her the entire time she’d been on Ward B. Because of her internal warning system, she’d always managed to stay one move ahead of him. Until he suddenly ended the game and she was the loser.
“So, I feel bad because of the withdrawals, the shock treatments, and Dr. Payne hitting me.” She was glad she couldn’t remember it.
“Yeah.”
Withdrawals. Shock treatments. Dr. Payne. She’d heard her own words, and suddenly they added up to one terrible question. Was Cain acting uneasy because he assumed her gray matter was malfunctioning? She’d spent the last two years of her life locked in a psychiatric facility. That didn’t happen to normal people. Not that she was perfectly normal, but she wasn’t batshit, bananas, or bonkers. But then Dr. Payne always told her that crazy people don’t know they were crazy. What did that asshole know?
“I’m not crazy. I didn’t belong in there.”
His brows dipped low over his beautiful eyes. “Never said you did.”
“Really. I’m not crazy. I don’t know how it happened, but someone did something to get me locked in there. I spent the first six months shouting about how I wasn’t nuts. Finally, I decided to change my strategy. Go along to get along. When in Rome and all that crap. I cooperated. I did every damned thing they asked of me, and still it wasn’t enough to get me out of there.”
“How did you end up in there?”
“No joke, the cops showed up, and right behind them were the men in white coats, and right behind them was Dr. Payne.”
“Why was he there the day they took you? Had you met him before then?”
“I’d never seen him before in my life.”
Cain glanced at her, then looked away again. “Did someone…you know, say you were crazy?”
“I don’t know. I don’t have people in my life. I have no relationships or friendships. You know how it is. Everyone acts like Killion dipped us in gold, and they all want to break off a piece of us for a sick souvenir. So if you want names, I don’t have any.” No one understood that the sum total of her existence could add up to more than that one terrible day. Everyone acted as if that one day was her entire life.
Except for Cain. He would understand. He was in the same position.
“And I’ve never told anyone about my ability. I could see if I had, they might wonder. It is a little strange, but I’ve never mentioned it to anyone except you. So I have no idea—absolutely none—how I ended up in there.” For just a moment after she finished talking, things were okay. Then the impact of what she’d said hit her. Damn. Probably shouldn’t have mentioned her ability. It didn’t exactly jibe with her I-swear-I’m-sane argument. It was his danged fault she’d said
it. He was so quiet, she just kept talking and talking, filling the silence with things she shouldn’t be saying.
“Your ability?” His attention locked on her so tight she almost couldn’t move. Great. Now he chose to look at her. Probably assessing her danger level.
That piece of her was out there now. She couldn’t suck it back in and pretend she hadn’t said it. That would only make things worse. “I’m not mental. This is real. After Killion… You know… Well… Um…” She almost couldn’t figure out how to put it into words. “It’s like I have an internal warning system. I’m sensitive to bad energy or bad vibes. I can tell when someone has bad intentions.
“I don’t know why or how it happens, but it’s like memories come into my mind, but they’re not memories. They’re what the person plans to do in the future. It’s not perfect. Especially if a person is behaving spontaneously. So I can’t rely on it.” She’d gone this far, so she might as well finish it off. “It’s a one-way kind of thing—I only see bad. Never the good.”
As she watched, a shield of wariness fell over him, dimming the light in his eyes. A tiny part of her wanted to be angry at him for not believing her, but she didn’t have the strength for anger right now, and logically she couldn’t blame the guy. If she were in his shoes, would she really buy what she was trying to sell? Hell no. She’d go running from the store. “I know it sounds weird. It’s not exactly normal, but it is real.”
He nodded, a curt movement of his head, one that she interpreted to mean that he’d heard her words, understood their meaning, and didn’t want to talk about her craziness any longer. All right, give him what he wanted.
“So what’s next for me? You pretty much kidnapped”—he winced slightly at that word—“me, so I’m assuming everyone is searching for me. I’m going to need a lawyer to keep me out of the Center. You’re going to need one to deal with any charges they file. And I should notify the police that I’m all right. I don’t want them wasting their resources.”
“No one is looking for you.” The sentence came out calm and flat.
“But—”
“I just talked with Mac. He said there’s been no mention of you being missing. My translation of the situation: Dr. Payne doesn’t want anyone to know you’re gone.”
Cain stared at her for a long moment. At least he was looking at her more directly now. Then he turned away and went to work at the small counter across the room.
What did that mean? Understanding? Should she say something else? Figure out how to keep him engaged in conversation to prove she wasn’t Insane Jane? “Um… Thank you for getting me out of there. You probably saved my life.”
He came toward her with a glass of water in one hand and a bowl in the other. “You’ve been drinking pretty regular, but I haven’t been able to get you to eat anything.”
Her stomach gave a growl worthy of a hyena defending its kill. “Yeah, I think I’m starving.”
“The cabin is primitive. No electric. No running water. No refrigeration. So food here isn’t anything fancy.” He handed her a bowl of SpaghettiOs.
“You gave me SpaghettiOs. Did you know they used to be my favorite?” Her voice wavered and she stared down at the orange sauce, the round mushy O’s. Tears pricked her eyes. She didn’t normally let herself think about the past—the good or the bad or the mundane. They all hurt for different reasons. “Mom liked to make everything homemade, but sometimes she let me have these as a treat.”
Cain settled his palm on her shoulder. His solid strength soothed her, anchoring her in the present. She turned her head to his wrist, and rubbed her cheek against the bristly hairs on his arm. He gave her a gentle squeeze but didn’t move his hand. His understanding was unlike anyone else’s. He got it. Really got it in a way that no one else did. He understood how Killion destroyed lives. Because his had been destroyed too. He had been a victim too.
His beautiful light-and-dark eyes locked on her. Something happened in her psyche—a subtle shift as if this man was the key to her lock, and he’d just opened her up, exposing all her vulnerabilities. And yet she trusted him to not harm the most fragile parts of her. Why? Because she knew his vulnerability too. Knew his past pain.
Their shared pain had always pulled her toward him, but she’d denied the sensation for so long that it had become normal. Not anymore. If soul mates really existed, his father had created him to be hers. What an intriguing thought. She’d spent so much of her life avoiding connections with people, fearing they’d get hurt, but what if—what if—Cain really was meant to be hers?
“I think we’re meant to be this way,” she said simply.
He gave one dip of his chin. God—that gesture was sweet and silent and a bit infuriating. She didn’t quite know how to interpret it.
The thud of a car door from outside pulled his attention to the window beside the bed.
“Mac’s here.”
Those two words didn’t sound profound. Didn’t sound like they should carry so much dread, yet they did.
Chapter 6
I’ve spent the past fifteen years as a corrections officer at Petesville Super Max. Of all the inmates, Killion was always the politest, friendliest, and most engaging. He seemed like the kind of guy you’d invite over for a beer and to watch the game.
—Joshua Beckers, corrections officer (retired)
Cain had survived some serious shit in his life. And yet standing here—in front of Mercy Ledger—he felt like a fucking coward.
“Cain?” Mercy’s tone drowned in an emotion that sounded an awful lot like fear.
He couldn’t look at her.
She’d been a trouper this time when she’d awakened, but that didn’t mean the next time she wouldn’t be scared shitless again. Her short-term memory was garbage. She probably wouldn’t remember this, and he didn’t know how long the meds would remain in her system. They could still be in there, still be sedating her from the full impact of being in the same room with him.
He’d been delusional to think she’d feel anything except fear toward him. The best thing was for him to adios, amigos before full-frontal awareness hit.
He forced himself to walk across the cabin and open the door. He lost momentum just before he stepped outside. The urge to look at her, to say something, nearly overcame his good sense. The door shut behind him. The familiar thunk of wood meeting wood was a period, the end of him and Mercy. He would never see her again.
Unless he revived his old stalking routine.
Yes. Yes. Yes.
No. No. No.
The idea of watching her appealed to him so much that he recognized the danger in it. He wouldn’t do that. He would pretend she didn’t exist.
Mac stood at the back of his car—trunk up, rummaging around inside.
Cain strode across the gravel drive toward him. The crunch and crack of rock underneath his boots echoed in the quiet. Overhead, clouds the color of sad days had settled just over the treetops, and he could feel the moisture in the air—the prelude to a downpour.
He rounded Mac’s trunk. Mac held his service revolver in his hand, not in the ready-aim-fire position, but just holding it like he would a sack of groceries.
“Here’s the rundown.” Cain sucked in a breath. “Liz asked me to take her. It was a stupid-ass idea, but I didn’t see any alternatives. If you had seen her, you would’ve done it too. Right now, she’s over the worst of the withdrawals. But her short-term memory is gone from the shock treatments. She’s more lucid than she has been, but she’s still a bit off balance.” Off balance—he was being intentionally vague. No way was he telling Mac about her so-called ability. Didn’t want the guy to think that she actually deserved to be in the Center, but he wanted to lay the groundwork of blaming the meds and shocks in case she mentioned it.
Mac settled his service pistol in the portable gun safe, shut the lid, and then checked to make certain it wa
s locked. “Not taking a weapon around her until I can gauge her mental state.”
Part of Cain wanted to argue that she wasn’t dangerous and didn’t need such considerations, but she had been in the Center, medicated, and shocked. If anyone had a right to be a bit nutso, it was her.
“Last time she woke up, she thought I was…” Still couldn’t say the name. Mac gave a nod—he knew. Hell, everyone with eyeballs knew. “She ran from me. I found her in the middle of the road…” He couldn’t bring himself to say crawling away from me. That was just too damned shameful to utter out loud.
“You’re not him.” Mac’s tone brimmed with sympathy. Fucking sympathy.
Give him anger. Give him fear. Give him fuzzy-assed unicorns that shit glitter and gold—just don’t give him sympathy. Sympathy sucked a giant sack.
Mac put his hand on Cain’s shoulder, a fatherly gesture meant to offer silent comfort and solidarity. And it did. But only to a point. Didn’t change Cain’s need to get the fuck away from her before she got scared of him again.
Mac looked beyond him to the cabin. “So two days ago, Liz asked you to take Mercy?”
“Yeah.”
“How’d she seem?”
“She was fucked up from all the meds and shocks.”
“I meant, how was Liz?”
“If you’re asking if she was in her right mind, yeah, she was. If I hadn’t gotten Mercy out of there, she’d probably be dead by now. Liz saved her life.”
Mac studied him, really studied Cain’s face as if he were looking for the lie he might be telling. Only Cain wasn’t lying. And Mac would see that.
“Why didn’t you tell me? Why haven’t you ever told me about this place? I’ve wondered where you go for days at a time. I would’ve respected your privacy. I just wouldn’t have worried.”
Heat crept up Cain’s neck, burning his cheeks. It was just like Mac to notice he would go off-radar, but not say anything until Cain opened the door. “I just… I needed… I wanted to be away from it all. Where no one could find me, and I could…” Draw the foul things I see on the backs of my eyelids every time I try to sleep. He clamped his lips closed. Jeesh, he didn’t want to have a confession session out here in the middle of the driveway.
