by Cynthia Eden
“Wade . . .” Victoria began, her voice husky.
“We have to get her to a hospital! The bastard slit her throat!”
Victoria’s chest burned. “I have to check her trachea.” It wasn’t just about the blood—it was about getting air to Melissa. And Victoria was very, very afraid of that wound—it’s too deep. Too wide and long. He didn’t just cut her carotid. He hit her trachea.
Wade lowered her so Victoria could better examine the woman.
Melissa didn’t move.
“She was making a rasping sound when I first found her,” Wade said. “Just a few minutes ago. She was alive! She—”
She wasn’t breathing. And when Victoria tried to find a pulse, she couldn’t.
There was no rustle as if she were trying to get air. There was no rise and fall of her chest that Victoria could see at all.
“Life flight is coming!” Jacob shouted, his voice breaking. “EMTs are rushing through the woods to meet us, and the airlift will come for her right here—they’ll land on the beach.”
Wade put Melissa to the ground. And it was Melissa. With Jacob’s light, Victoria could clearly see her face. Her still face. The woman’s lashes were closed. Blood was everywhere.
“She’s alive,” Wade said. “We got to her in time.”
He was breaking her heart. Gutting Victoria because there was such desperate hope in his voice.
So she went to work, even though she feared—even though everything she saw—told her that, no, Wade was wrong.
Melissa wasn’t alive. At least not anymore, she wasn’t.
THE HELICOPTER ROSE into the air. The whoop-whoop-whoop of the chopper’s blades filled the night and sand blew toward Wade and Victoria. He turned, trying to shield her body with his as that helicopter rose ever higher.
Then . . .
It was gone.
His hands—blood covered—had wrapped around Victoria’s shoulders. They fell now as she glanced back at him. She hadn’t said anything during those long painful moments while they waited for Life Flight to arrive. She’d just worked on Melissa with a desperate focus.
He’d heard the whispers from the cops, though. He knew what they all believed . . .
She’s already gone.
Rage burned within him, a fierce, deep fury because he knew they were right. Even as she’d been loaded into that chopper, Wade had known the truth.
He hadn’t saved Melissa Hastings. He’d arrived too fucking late.
Another one I lost. I should have searched the area sooner. Should have forgotten about that fucking house and run straight out to search.
No, he should have gone to Jekyll Island first, not followed the cops to Connie’s house. He should have done a million damn things differently.
Instead . . .
“Wade . . .” Victoria’s whisper held such pain. “I’m sorry.”
He spun away from her and started walking. Blindly. Just straight damn ahead. The cops were combing the beach, but it was still so dark—what the hell did they think they would find? The killer? Hell, no. He wasn’t just going to walk right up to them. He was too smart for that.
He’d taken his prey. He’d killed her. And he’d gotten away.
The waves brushed over Wade’s feet. He stilled, realizing now that he’d walked to one of the things that he hated most.
Fucking ocean.
The waves battered at him.
“Wade . . .” Victoria had followed him. Beautiful Victoria, with all of her secrets. Secrets that she wouldn’t share with him. Secrets that he’d tried to figure out on his own.
When I wasn’t even sharing my past with her.
Was that right? Hell, no. But right wasn’t always in his vocabulary, despite what Victoria thought of him. She believed he was the good guy. The stand-up one.
She had no clue.
Growing up, he’d been the rebel. The one most likely to sneak out and look for trouble. The one who’d taken dares. The one who’d been pissed that his old man skipped out, and he’d run wild.
His brother, Adam, had been the good one. Always looking out for him. Watching over their mom.
The water hit him again, reminding Wade too much of the past. This island. Why did it have to be this place? Fate was a cold and cruel bitch, that was for sure. He hated this place, and if he’d had his way, he would have never set foot on Jekyll again.
But I came back. And someone else died. Freaking story of my life.
“I think . . . I think Detective Black is here now.” Her voice was hesitant.
Wade stared into the darkness of the ocean. He knew he needed to pull his shit together. Melissa’s blood is still on me. “I wanted to save her.” His voice was stark.
“I know.”
He spun to face her. “When did you know she was gone?”
He couldn’t see her face, but he heard the sadness in her voice when she said, “When I—I touched her. She was too still.”
“She bled out.”
Victoria didn’t speak.
“Fuck, what? What is it?” He could feel her holding back.
“It was more like . . . you don’t really want to hear this, okay? Not now. Let’s just go talk to Dace. Let’s see if the crime scene team can find anything in that house.”
She was trying to protect him? He got that. But he wasn’t in the mood for protection. “What the hell happened to her?”
“He didn’t want her to live, Wade.” Her hand rose. Curled around his arm and squeezed. “Isn’t that enough? Why do you want more pain in your mind? Don’t you think . . . there’s already enough there as it is?”
“Tell me.” She was the doctor. She knew . . .
Her hand pulled away. “He cut her carotid. Her . . . trachea. The wound was deep and long. That rasping you heard? I—I believe she was . . . Wade, look, we don’t have to—”
Now he was the one to grab her and hold tight. “She was in my arms. I put pressure on her wound. I tried to help—”
“She was choking and drowning on her own blood. You tried, but there just wasn’t anything you could do by then.”
Something . . . shut down in him. Shut off.
Another victim. She died in my arms and I didn’t even realize it. He’d been so intent on rushing her to safety. He hadn’t felt it when she’d slipped away.
“Wade?”
He walked past Victoria, heading back toward the little cottage. Away from the ocean and away from the memories. Part of him just wanted to keep walking.
He’d joined LOST to make a difference. And in the last twenty-four hours, instead of saving the missing . . . he’d just added to the list of the dead.
Would it ever end? Would he ever make any sort of difference? Seemed like his life was just about the dead. About being too late. Again and again.
Just like I was too late to help my own fucking brother. I jumped in the water too late. Didn’t find him fast enough.
And then he was just gone.
VICTORIA BLINKED THE tears from her eyes. She didn’t follow behind Wade. Not right then. She just . . . she needed a minute.
Yes, yes, they had to go talk with Dace. Had to talk to all the cops. Had to see just what they could do to help the investigation.
But for a moment Victoria just stood there. She wrapped her arms around her stomach and drew in a deep, shuddering breath.
She’d wanted to save Melissa, too. The woman had been so young and she’d obviously suffered so much. Why couldn’t there have been a happy ending for her?
Wade was beaten up, no doubt about it, but did he feel the same gut-wrenching guilt that she did? Because as she’d tried so frantically to help Melissa, the perp’s words had been replaying through her mind, again and again . . .
You can come to me, and I’ll let Melissa go.
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She hadn’t gone to him, and now . . . now Melissa Hastings was dead.
Tears were on her cheeks, and Victoria didn’t care. So what if she cried while on the case? So what if others saw her? She hurt—hurt for what Melissa had been through with that sick freak.
She hurt for Kennedy.
And she hurt . . . for the next victim. Because Victoria knew, beyond any shadow of a doubt, that there would be another victim. With a guy like this, there always would be. He wouldn’t stop, not until someone stopped him.
“Are you all right?”
She sucked in a sharp breath at the question. A question that had been asked by a deep, male voice.
Not Wade, though.
Victoria glanced to the left. Dace stood there, his body mostly in the shadows. “No, I’m not, but that doesn’t really matter, does it?”
“You think we should have come here first.” He edged closer to her.
She cast a quick glance around. Wade was nowhere to be seen, but a few other cops were on the beach.
“You think we made a mistake in following that phone to Connie’s place, don’t you?”
“It was your captain’s call,” she said, swiping at the tears on her cheeks. “He—”
“You wanted to come here.”
Yes. Her hands fell to her sides. “If I’d made the trade, Melissa wouldn’t be on that helicopter right now.”
“I know she was dead when she left the beach.”
She shivered. “They’ll still work on her. I’ve seen . . . there are miracles out there.” She’d stopped herself because, no, she hadn’t always seen them. But she’d heard stories. Some people were brought back. Amazing things could happen.
“I’m not Wade. You don’t have to bullshit with me.”
His words pulled her gaze back to him. Cautious now, she said, “I don’t lie to Wade. He’s my partner.”
“He may be, but that still doesn’t mean you tell him everything, now does it?”
Where is this going?
He advanced toward her. “I’m glad you didn’t make the trade.”
Instinctively, she shook her head. Melissa was dead—
Dace grabbed her arm. “If you had, then you would’ve been on that helicopter. Or hell, maybe you’d be in the ground someplace, just like Kennedy.”
Maybe. Or maybe she and Wade could have caught the killer. Maybe they would have been able to stop him and save the girl.
“Sacrificing yourself won’t help the victims,” Dace said, nearly growling the words. “It won’t—”
“Victoria.” Now that was Wade’s voice. Hard and sharp, cutting right through the night. “What’s going on?”
Dace stepped back. “Just talking to your partner.”
She’d thought that Wade had left. He could move so silently, but with the rush of the surf, hell, maybe everyone was moving silently. The surf smothered so many sounds.
Did that pounding surf help the killer escape?
“My captain wants Victoria to keep consulting on this case,” Dace said, his words abrupt. “He thinks she can help us . . . especially if this cottage has been the perp’s prison for his girls.”
His girls.
Victoria cleared her throat. “Kennedy’s . . . Her grave may be close. The Spanish moss that I found in her bag, it could easily have come from this area.”
“And if he kept Kennedy here . . .” Dace mused darkly. “Kennedy and Melissa . . . hell, my captain is worried there might be even more bodies on this island. He’s requested your help, Victoria.”
It wasn’t the first time she’d been brought in for consulting by local law enforcement. She nodded. “Of—Of course. If there is any way that I can help, I will.”
“Thank you.” Dace backed away. “I need to go interview Jim Porter. That guy is a freaking mess.”
Because he had traded himself for Melissa.
Only the trade hadn’t worked out.
Dace disappeared into the darkness. Victoria could feel Wade’s stare on her. “I thought you’d gone.”
“Not without you.” But he didn’t reach out to touch her. And she wanted him to—wanted him to take her hand.
She pulled in a deep breath. The helicopter was long gone. The cops had fully taken over the scene. There wasn’t much left for her and Wade to do, not just then. “We should report in to Gabe. Let him and the others at LOST know what happened.”
“Don’t consult.”
Her eyes widened. “What?”
“This case . . . the way it’s going . . . the way that perp called you. I don’t like it, Viki. Not one damn bit. There is nothing good happening here. I think you need to go back to Atlanta. Our work is done.”
She stiffened. “You don’t think I should be in the field.” She hadn’t thought so, either, not when Gabe had first given that order. Jeez, had it just been days ago? But things had changed. She had changed. And she didn’t want to let this case go. She couldn’t.
“I think you could be in danger. I think the perp gets fixated on women, and all signs are pointing to him being fixated on you.” He was so close, but still not touching her. “I hate the setup. I hate this fucking place. And I want you out of here.”
Her chin notched up. “I’m not leaving. Not until I see what’s been found here. Because if I can help catch this guy, I will do it.” If there were bodies buried near that cabin, then hell yes, she would stay. She could learn secrets from the dead. She’d learn those secrets and maybe they’d find evidence that would point to the killer’s identity.
She knew that Dace hadn’t been able to turn up anything usable on those traffic cameras near Vintage. Apparently, they’d gone on the fritz weeks ago, and the city hadn’t gotten around to footing the bill and getting them fixed. So there was no footage of the mystery man in the Jag who’d taken Melissa.
Taken her. Killed her.
She brushed by Wade. She’d wanted him close a moment before, but now—
He caught her arm. His grip was too tight. “I keep thinking . . . what if you had been in my arms?”
“Wade?” She strained to read his expression.
“What if you’d died while I held you and I didn’t even fucking realize it? Do you have any idea what that would do to me?”
Hesitant now, she shook her head.
“Sometimes, people are far more dangerous than we think.” His hold loosened on her, but Wade didn’t let her go. His fingers began to stroke the inside of her wrist. “Then something happens and a person . . . he just snaps.”
He was making her nervous. “You aren’t the type to snap.”
“Don’t be too sure. If that bastard came for you, if he tried to hurt you, believe me, there is nothing I wouldn’t do to keep you safe.”
He was warning her, and she didn’t know what to say in response. This was a Wade she hadn’t seen before. Dark and hard and with a stark, deadly determination that chilled her.
“Do you ever wonder,” he asked her softly, “why I turned in my badge?”
“B-Because Gabe asked you to join him at LOST. He wanted your help to get the organization off the ground—”
“No. I quit the force before LOST. There are some lines that, if you cross them once, they haunt you forever.”
What did you do? But she couldn’t get those words out. Because if she asked him about the darkness of his past, then wouldn’t she have to share her own secrets, too? And that wasn’t something she was ready to do. Not by a long shot.
So she didn’t say anything. They left that beach together. Not touching now, but bodies still close. Bodies tense. The waves crashed behind them, and the darkness hid so much.
His sins.
And hers.
THEY’D BEEN AT that scene all night long. Sunlight finally rose across the water, rising ever
so slowly, a ball of red that turned the water to fire.
The cops had searched and searched. They’d even locked down the island at one point. Not letting anyone else on, not letting anyone else off.
Like that had done any good.
The cops had just shut off the main road, but boats kept coming and going.
And the killer . . . well, Victoria suspected he could be hiding in plain sight and they wouldn’t know.
She walked slowly down Driftwood Beach. The beach was a crime scene now, but she had access. Curious bystanders had gathered—bystanders held back by two police officers and a thin strand of yellow plastic tape. In the rising sun, the beach was even more of a stark, almost sad place.
She could see now that all of the trees there were white—they’d been bleached by the sea and the sun. Massive trees. With dead roots and no leaves. Crisscrossed all over that sandy stretch of beach.
A camera flashed and she blinked. The crime scene tech was in front of Melissa’s tree. At least, that was how Victoria thought of it . . . a white tree that was streaked with red blood. The waves rose, sliding over her toes. She knew the techs had been working against the tide the whole time, but Mother Nature seemed determined to make their job as difficult as possible.
The ropes had been taken away. Bagged and tagged. As had so many of the items in that little cottage. The cops were still trying to track the owner of the cottage.
She knew Dace had one idea . . . Find the owner, find the killer.
But she doubted things would be that easy, despite what Dace wanted. Just like with the phone trace before, she suspected their perp was too smart to have made an obvious mistake. And having your name listed on the property where you torture and murder innocent women? That would definitely qualify as an obvious mistake.
Her gaze lingered on the blood. Melissa must have been so afraid at the end. When she’d seen Wade, had hope pushed that fear away?
Victoria prayed that it had. Because no one’s last moments should just be all about fear. And maybe, maybe, Melissa had been able to hope, for a little while.
Victoria squared her shoulders and headed back up the beach. She climbed the small incline that led to the woods and slipped beneath the yellow police tape. As soon as she cleared the tape, her phone vibrated. She pulled the phone from her pocket and saw the text from Wade.
