by Rita Herron
Beth seared him with an angry look. “You wouldn’t do that.”
Ian’s chest rose and fell with his breath. “If it means protecting you, I would.”
She held her ground. “You’re just as close to this case as I am.”
They locked stubborn gazes, the heat between them vibrating with turmoil and sexual tension. She’d liked Ian in high school, but now she admired him for his loyalty to the town, for his grit, for the fact that he stood for justice.
Close quarters, danger, uncertainty—it was hard not to want to lean on him.
That’s all this crazy attraction was.
But she couldn’t give in to it.
She’d vowed to Sunny to find the unsub, and if that meant repressing her emotions until the job was done, she’d damn well do it.
“You’re right,” Ian admitted. “But I want to keep you safe, Beth. I let you down once. I won’t do it again.”
His declaration sent a tingle of need through her. She wanted to touch him, hold him, feel his arms around her.
But the fingerprint dust in the house was a reality check.
Cleaning would be cathartic.
Crawling in bed with Ian would be dangerous.
She was walking a tightrope with her emotions already. There was no way she could have a physical relationship with Ian without losing her heart.
“I’m cleaning,” she insisted, head held high. “I don’t want anyone touching my things.” She’d been violated enough already.
Herman Otter used to touch her clothing. Twice she’d found him in her bedroom, running his fingers over her underwear. She’d thrown away everything he’d pawed with those nasty fingers.
“Fine,” Ian said. “I’ll help.”
He followed her inside, and she grabbed cleaning supplies from below the sink. Although it was late and she was exhausted, she was too wired to go to bed.
By the time she finished cleaning, maybe her adrenaline would wane enough for her to fall asleep. Maybe she could erase the image of Herman’s paws on her panties.
Maybe the nightmares would leave her alone tonight.
Reverend Jim Benton laid his hands on the girl’s chest and spoke in a reverent tone.
“Leviticus 17:11 says, ‘For the life of the flesh is in the blood, and I have given it for you on the altar to make atonement for your souls, for it is the blood that makes atonement by the life.’”
A cold chill swept through the dark room, and the girl screamed and thrashed at her bindings.
He continued to pray, using his connection to God to beg for her life. “She walks with the devil now. Take the sin from this girl and free her of the Evil possessing her.”
He had watched her in the crowd at the revival. Heard her speak blasphemy under the tent where only sacred words and prayers should be spoken.
Seen the lust in her eyes for the young boys.
Fourteen. The changes in the girl’s body could have precipitated her transgressions. All the more reason to exorcise the demons before they possessed her completely.
Just like those girls that sheriff had found in Hemlock Holler. All had been troubled. All veering down the road to drugs, prostitution, and sin.
The girl screamed, her body convulsing, the animal sounds she emitted a sign that her soul had been lost.
He lit a candle and waved the faint light above her, reciting more Bible verses as she fought. Sweat poured down her body and her eyes rolled back in her head.
Then she was quiet.
It was almost two o’clock in the morning by the time Beth retreated into the bedroom. Ian insisted on staying to serve as bodyguard. She’d tossed him a pillow and blanket, and he sacked out on the couch.
Just as he’d suspected, she left the light in the bedroom burning.
His gut clenched at the thought of the nightmares that plagued her. He heard her thrashing around during the night. Twice he went to the door, tempted to go in and wake her.
Or hold her and alleviate her fears.
But he sensed she wouldn’t welcome his attention—or him anywhere in her bed.
He was also afraid that once he got in bed with her, he wouldn’t want to leave her.
He finally dozed off for a couple of hours but woke at dawn. He rose, dug around in the place for coffee, and brewed a pot. He was about to pour a mug when Beth appeared, dressed in running gear.
She barely gave him a glance, then headed to the door.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“For my morning run,” Beth said as she jammed earbuds in her ears.
“Not without me you’re not.”
Beth placed her hands on the kitchen counter and stretched. “You can’t boss me around, Ian.”
He realized he’d sounded demanding, and lowered his tone. As possessive as he felt toward her, he’d never become like Bernie and try to rule her. Or own her. “I’m not, but we both know that the unsub was here last night. He may be watching us now.”
Her eyes flickered with unease, making him feel like a heel.
He refused to back down, though. If the unsub thought she could identify him, he might try to kill her to keep her quiet.
Beth desperately needed the run to relieve her stress. Sleeping had been her enemy for years. Having Ian in the house should have made her feel safer.
But he was dangerous to her in a different way.
Last night she’d had the same nightmares of her abduction and that cave where she’d watched the blood drain from her friend’s arm. When she’d awakened, she’d wanted to curl up in Ian’s arms.
But she’d restrained herself. Then she fell asleep again and dreamed of wild and torrid sex with Ian. Delicious sex like nothing she’d ever experienced.
Sex that felt intimate and wonderful, as if she was tied to the man who gave her pleasure. As if she always would be.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Beth’s body was wound tight with need as she waited for Ian to jog two doors down to his cabin and change.
A need she refused to acknowledge or indulge.
Ian appeared wearing running shorts and a T-shirt, making matters worse. His muscles strained the confines of his T-shirt, and his shorts revealed long, muscular thighs and calves that made her mouth water.
Battling temptation, she vaulted outside and took off down the path along the river. Ian followed, and they ran in silence along the trails and through the woods, a three-mile trek. She could have done more, but they needed to get to work.
Whitehorse was already leading Weller’s men again in their search for Prissy in the woods.
Every hour she was missing lessened the chances of finding her alive.
They were both sweating and breathing hard when they returned to the cabin. Beth hurried to her room, stripped her clothes, turned on the shower, and climbed beneath the warm spray.
If only she could wash away her guilt and fear, she might be whole again. As whole as a woman like her could get.
By the time she was dressed, her phone buzzed. Director Vance.
Pulse jumping, she pressed Connect. “Agent Fields. Did you get my message about finding Prissy Carson’s glasses and backpack?”
“Yes, but that’s not the reason for my call. Have you seen the news?” he asked.
Her shoulders tensed and she flipped on the television. “No, why?”
“That reporter knows who you are.”
“Oh God.” Beth lowered her head into her hands, fear and panic seizing her. “How?”
“I don’t know, but the bastard used it as his headline. It’s all over the Internet, and the morning news picked it up.”
A sick feeling washed over Beth as the news appeared on the screen.
Survivor of Boneyard Killer Returns as FBI Agent to Track Down Her Abductor
A recent photo of her appeared. Then a photo of JJ along with the caption.
“I’m sorry, Beth. I don’t know how he found out. We can run something to deny it,” Director Vance offered. “But he
printed a picture, along with the story of your abduction.”
“Thanks for the warning,” Beth said, fighting the urge to go home and hide. “But the unsub has already found me. He left a page from the diary he took from me at the cabin last night.”
A string of expletives followed. “I want you off the case.”
Beth closed her eyes on a sigh. Images of Sunny and May and Prissy and those bones floating in the water tormented her.
There was no way she could quit.
She had to find Prissy.
Get justice for the others. For Sunny.
Lock up this sicko so she wouldn’t have to keep running.
Ian knew something was wrong the minute Beth entered the kitchen.
“Michaels revealed my identity,” she said.
Ian was pissed. “I knew we couldn’t trust that scum.”
If he could lock up the jerk, he would. But Michaels probably kept a lawyer on retainer and used him every time he crossed the line.
Furious, he punched Michaels’s number.
The message machine picked up, so he left a voice mail. “I told you I’d give you an exclusive, but your little stunt just blew that deal. You put Beth Fields in danger. Stay away from her.”
Beth gave him a small smile when he hung up. “Thanks, but I doubt it does any good. People like Michaels are out to make a name for themselves. They don’t care how they get their information or who they hurt.”
Maybe not, but he’d pissed off the wrong guy this time.
“The director wants me off the case,” Beth said, irritation in her voice.
He arched a brow. “Are you going back to Knoxville?”
She lifted her chin. “No. I came here to find Sunny’s killer, and nothing will stop me.”
A smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. He admired her spunk and determination.
A memory tickled his consciousness—back in school. One of the cheerleaders had tripped her in the classroom. JJ had gotten up, brushed herself off, and smiled. But later that day, she’d cornered the girl outside and paid her back by whacking off her hair. The girl had run crying into the bushes like a baby.
“Let’s stop by the lab. The sooner they process Prissy’s backpack, the sooner we might have a lead.”
He nodded, then drove Beth to the county crime lab. Hopefully Peyton would find a lead in Prissy’s texts, social media, or computer.
A few minutes later, Beth met Ian in the lab hallway. “Let’s go, Ian. I have the name of the more recent victim from the boneyard. Lindy Saxton. She lived with her sister in Cleveland, Tennessee. I’ll fill you in on the way. I want to talk to her before we visit the school.”
They rushed to Ian’s SUV and jumped in. Beth fastened her seatbelt as they drove away. “Peyton emailed me the file from the investigation when Lindy went missing.”
Ian’s jaw twitched. “What does it say?”
“Her parents were dead. Lindy lived with her older sister. They were having a hard time making ends meet. The sister worked as a waitress to pay the bills.”
“Maybe one of Lindy’s friends saw something,” Ian said, a hopeful note to his voice.
Impatience nagged at Beth as they headed toward Cleveland. They needed answers and needed them fast before another girl died.
But traffic was moving slowly on the country road, increasing her agitation.
“What else do you see in the file?” Ian asked.
Beth forced herself to focus. “She had a best friend named Cathy who said Lindy had slipped into a bad funk. Said she’d smoked dope a few times and her sister caught her, and they had it out. Lindy told Cathy she was going to run away to New York and become a model.”
“Really? Her friend said she ran away?”
“That’s what she thought. Sad, isn’t it?” Beth murmured. “The last time Lindy’s sister spoke with her they argued.”
“Another runaway,” Ian said. “It seems that’s where our unsub is picking his victims. Girls he finds on the streets.”
Beth considered his observation. “That tells us about his victimology, but it doesn’t narrow down locations. He’s choosing from low-risk victims, but he’s all over the Southeast.”
Beth skimmed for more information, although the file was slim. The sister had cooperated with the police but had her own problems with drinking.
Thirty minutes later, Ian parked at a duplex near the heart of the small town. The property was overgrown, and a rusted sedan sat in the drive. They climbed out and walked up the sidewalk. Ian knocked on the door, and a young woman’s voice called out that she was coming.
When the door opened, a skinny brunette wearing a waitress’s uniform stood, hands on her hips as she smacked her gum.
Beth flashed her credentials and introduced herself and Ian. “Are you Terry Saxton?”
“Yes.” The young woman’s face drained of color. “Oh God, you found Lindy, didn’t you?”
Beth gently touched the girl’s arm. “I’m afraid so.”
Tears blurred Terry’s eyes, and she staggered backward inside the apartment. Ian grabbed her arm to steady her just before she collapsed into a rickety wooden chair.
Beth yanked a tissue from her purse and gently eased it into Terry’s hand. Losing a sister had to be devastating.
But Terry might know something about the killer that she didn’t realize. Beth had to ask questions.
She also wanted to help Terry understand her sister’s death wasn’t her fault. “I’m so sorry, honey.”
The scent of strong coffee and burned bacon filled the air, a stack of dirty dishes were piled in the sink, and bills overflowed from a basket on the counter. Ian discreetly thumbed through them.
“What happened?” Terry cried. “Where has she been?”
Beth did not want to share the details of how Lindy had died. Terry didn’t deserve to carry that mental picture for the rest of her life. “We found her body buried outside Graveyard Falls.”
Horror widened the girl’s eyes. “You mean she was murdered by the Boneyard Killer?”
Beth nodded and rubbed Terry’s back. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s all my fault,” Terry sobbed. “I was supposed to take care of Lindy. I was supposed to be with her, but . . . I had to work, and I was late getting home and tired that night.”
The guilt in Terry’s voice mirrored Beth’s own guilt over Sunny. “It’s not your fault, Terry. Your sister knew you loved her.”
Huge sniffles followed, and Terry blew her nose. “I did love her, but our folks were killed in a car wreck a year ago, and she was having a hard time, and she was mad all the time.” More tears leaked from her eyes.
“I’m sure it wasn’t easy on you either. You were grieving and suddenly had a teenager to raise when you were a teen yourself,” Beth said. “Do you have other family?”
Terry shook her head, her mop of hair falling in her eyes. “It was just me. I’d just turned eighteen, so I got this waitressing job, and I was trying to take care of us, but the money wasn’t enough, and Lindy wanted to have fun, not clip coupons and eat greasy leftovers every night.”
Compassion squeezed Beth’s chest. The weight on Terry’s shoulders had been heavy.
“We had a big fight before I went to the Burger Barn, and when I got home she was gone. I . . . was so tired and had a hard night and figured she went to sleep over at her friend’s house, and I crashed.”
“Had she done that before? Gone to a friend’s and not left a note or called?” Beth asked.
“Yeah, all the time. Usually I’d check on her, but that night I was exhausted and just went to bed. The next morning I tried her friend, but she hadn’t seen Lindy or talked to her. And she was just . . . gone.”
“So you reported her missing?” Ian asked.
Shame flashed in Terry’s eyes. “Not at first. I thought the law might take her away from me, so I spent the morning out looking for her. I drove to all the spots I thought she’d go. The Burger Hut, the high school, t
hat old church where Mama and Daddy used to go. But the preacher said he hadn’t seen her.”
“Did she pack a bag to take with her?” Beth asked.
Terry gave a weak nod, guilt streaking her face. “Her backpack was gone. She ran away because we’d been fighting.” Her chin quivered. “And now she’s dead. It should have been me, not her. She was the pretty one, the smart one. I was supposed to help her get to college.”
She broke into sobs again, and Beth pulled her in her arms and rocked her while she cried.
“Is there anyone I can call for you?” Beth asked gently.
Terry nodded. “My boyfriend, Liam. His number’s in my phone.”
Beth gestured to Ian to make the call. There was no way she was going to leave this young woman alone.
While they waited for the boyfriend to arrive, Beth asked to see Lindy’s room. Terry stood at the edge as if it was too painful to go inside.
“I haven’t changed anything,” she said in a choked voice.
Beth nodded and touched a photograph of Lindy and Terry when they were little girls. They were standing in front of a Christmas tree in red-and-white polka-dotted pajamas holding twin dolls. Tears welled in Beth’s eyes. Such cute children with their futures ahead of them.
Terry ran to the bathroom, and Beth let her go. The poor girl needed time to grieve.
The doorbell rang, and Ian let Terry’s boyfriend in.
Beth ran her hand along Lindy’s purple comforter, forming a mental picture of Lindy as she studied her room. Posters of top models and actresses adorned the walls. In her closet, cowboy boots, Western shirts, jeans, and boots remained—an image she wanted to change so she could wear evening gowns and designer shoes.
Beth wiped at a tear that slipped down her cheek.
Lindy would never get the chance to follow her dream.
Sympathy for Terry filled Ian as they left Terry with her boyfriend. He’d seen Beth wiping tears from her eyes.
Beth promised to call Terry’s boss so she wouldn’t lose her job, and Ian assured her that they’d notify her when her sister’s body was released so she could arrange a proper burial.
