Epiphany: Part Two

by Gemma James

  Contents

  Title page

  Copyright

  Summary

  1. Hook and Bait

  2. Flashback

  3. Temperature Rising

  4. Crash and Burn

  5. My Demons

  6. Lunar Visions

  7. Revelations

  8. Tyrant

  9. Legacy of Payne

  10. Headlines

  11. Blackout

  12. Free Fall

  13. Kitchen Scandal

  14. Eavesdropper

  15. If Stubborn Were a Pastime

  16. High Tide

  17. Declaration

  18. Hangover

  19. Uninvited

  20. Change of Heart

  21. Clandestine Disclosure

  Note from the Author

  About the Author

  Epiphany: Part Two

  Copyright © 2015 Gemma James

  Cover design by Rebecca Berto at Berto Designs

  Cover image used under license from www.dollarphotoclub.com

  All rights reserved.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Aidan is stubborn, sexy, and determined above all else to protect me. From the madman that stalks us, from the past that still haunts me, even from himself. He puts on the brakes, thinking it’s what I need, and maybe he’s right. But the allure of him is too strong, our connection too unbreakable, and neither of us can fight it anymore.

  We both know the timing is dangerous. Details of the Hangman’s next kill are trickling into my dreams like a leaky faucet, and Aidan and I race to stop him. But who will save us?

  Especially from the secret my dreams never disclosed, the one that nukes my world and obliterates the foundation of everything I believed to be true.

  I don’t know if we can survive this.

  Part two of a three-part serial. Intended for mature audiences due to sexy adult situations, explicit language, and disturbing subject matter. Approximately 31,000 words.

  I was dreaming. Conscious people didn’t suspend over someone like a balloon, pulled along for the ride like a silent spectator. It wasn’t normal. Then again, normal people didn’t see the stuff I did in my dreams. My momentum slowed, and I watched Aidan pull into the garage of a single-level stucco home. He closed the garage door, concealing his silver BMW as two preschool-aged kids approached his front stoop while their smiling mothers waited on the sidewalk. The sun dipped toward the horizon, its last rays painting the mountain range a stunning burnt orange. The kids were getting a head start on trick-or-treating. Raggedy Ann stood back as the brave-faced pirate rapped on the front door.

  Aidan entered the house through the kitchen. His hair was shorter than the careless length he wore now, his eyes bloodshot and weary. He halted at the counter and stood unmoving, lifeless as a pillar at Stonehenge. The two trick-or-treaters knocked a second time but were either ignored or simply not heard.

  In a fit of rage, he grabbed a plate from the sink and hurled it at the wall. The rest of the dishes joined the first, and glass shattered and rained everywhere. He stared at the mess, as broken as the shards glinting on his floor.

  “Aidan—” My voice cracked on his name.

  Of course, he didn’t hear me. He strode from the room, stomping through the house and kicking anything in sight as a slew of obscenities filled the air. He reached the bedroom only to come to an abrupt stop. The room was alight with candles, and a banner reading “Happy Birthday” hung above the four-poster bed.

  On the comforter sat a note.

  No, not a note…a birthday card.

  Aidan picked it up, and a photo fell out. He gripped the image, knuckles turning white as he stared at a woman with tangled dark hair. In the photo, she was still alive, her wide eyes full of horror as she stared into the camera lens with tears streaming down her cheeks. Her hands were restrained, her naked breasts burned.

  Aidan’s eyes overflowed, drops of despair drenching his face, creeping past unshaven cheeks. He flipped the card open, read the words I wasn’t able to decipher, and fled the house.

  I flew overhead, my invisible string carrying me along as he sped down the highway. He must have been doing ninety, maybe more. The darkening foothills grew larger as we spanned the distance. He pulled off the road, came to a screeching stop, and left the door open in his haste to take off running. Every so often he halted long enough to glance at the birthday card. Whatever was written there must have led him here, to this place in the middle of nowhere.

  By the time brush gave way to spotted trees, the sun had disappeared from the sky. Aidan didn’t have a flashlight, though it didn’t slow him down. He kept moving, stepping over rocky terrain, climbing higher, lower, and higher still. I tasted his fear, almost choked on it. I wanted to pull him back and embrace him, tell him not to go any further.

  I knew what he was going to find.

  A lone tree came into view, its branches streaking the night like thick snakes reaching for heaven. My heart stopped. A slim figure hung from one of the lower limbs.

  “Deb!” His scream ricocheted through every cell in my body. I reached for him as he struggled to cut the rope, ached to hold him when he fell to the ground under the weight of his wife’s limp body.

  I grasped nothing but air, existing in a state of helplessness, condemned to watch while he tried to breathe life back into her lungs, as if his love alone could bring about a miracle. He finally gave up and gathered her into his arms, buried his face in her hair, and cried for the longest time…

  I shot up in bed with a choked gasp, my feet tangled in the sheets as sweat drenched my back. A figure stood in the doorway blocking the light from the hall. I didn’t immediately recognize Aidan’s guest bedroom. All at once the details of the previous night flooded back. Finding the picture of Aidan’s wife on my bed, then the subsequent hours spent at the sheriff’s station—it all blended with the echoes of my venture into his past. My gut insisted I’d witnessed the truth, history without embellishment. I’d wanted to see Aidan in my dreams, and now I had. How ironic that I’d give anything to erase the knowledge from my mind because his pain lanced as deeply as my own.

  I peeked at him now as he entered the room. He crouched in front of me, and I suddenly realized how exposed my pale legs were underneath my T-shirt. I clutched the blanket and covered myself.

  “Are you okay?”

  I nodded. “Just a nightmare.”

  “Did you…see something?”

  I jerked my head back and forth, a too-quick denial, and clenched my fists to keep them from shaking. My gaze fell to my lap.

  He wouldn’t allow me to withdraw. “Talk to me,” he coaxed, tilting my head up.

  “What time is it?”

  He opened his mouth then pressed his lips together, as if he’d wanted to push but decided not to. “Six-thirty.” He stood and wandered to the window where he parted the curtains. “I couldn’t sleep. When I heard your cries…” He swallowed. “I thought something was wrong. I thought he’d broken in somehow.”

  A chill traveled down my spine. I was officially terrified now, had been since finding the sicko’s trophy on my bed. Spending two hours at the police station hadn’t eased my fear. The sheriff’s concern matched Aidan’s, and they were adamant about my needing protection. Retur
ning to my apartment was going to cause a huge argument, especially since Aidan had vowed not to let me out of his sight.

  Not that I was anxious to go home, but I couldn’t stay in his guest room forever, and going back home to Eugene…I liked that idea even less. The Boise Hangman had killed in two states.

  What was to stop him from following me?

  Maybe the real question was why me? Aidan said the killer held a grudge. Was that why he murdered his wife? Was he now after me because of Aidan? Or because we’d found Six?

  “I’ll make breakfast. Come on up when you’re ready, okay?”

  “Okay.” An instant later he was gone, and I listened to his footsteps on the stairs.

  The first light of day peeked through the curtains, and my mind went to work crafting crazy ideas Aidan would swear made no sense, but somehow made all the sense in the world to me. No, he wasn’t going to like the thoughts formulating in my head.

  I pulled on my jeans underneath the soft T-shirt he’d loaned me to sleep in. A scent that was Aidan, something unique that no detergent or cologne could replicate, brought about conflicting emotions, and I almost changed. But temptation won, and the shirt remained where it belonged—snuggled around my body, a constant sensory reminder of Aidan. I finger-combed my short hair and headed for the stairs.

  He was barefoot in the kitchen flipping pancakes on a griddle. God help me, but what a sight. The sweats he wore hugged his hips to the point of distraction. I was thankful he’d pulled on a shirt. I would have been as red as a tomato if he’d stood bare-chested doing something as domestic as cooking. I’d never considered the act of cooking so sexy until that moment.

  He turned around and smiled at me, dimples and all. “I hope you like pancakes.”

  “I love them.” I settled onto a barstool at the center island and ran my palm across the cold granite. “How did you become so good in the kitchen?”

  “My wife was a great cook. I picked up a few things from her.” He turned off the stove and carried two stacks of golden pancakes to the island. “Anything I make is like ramen noodles compared to what she could do in the kitchen.” He took the barstool next to mine.

  I buttered my stack and tried to keep my expression neutral. His words had taken me straight back into my dream. “She was a good teacher,” I said between bites. “I can barely boil water.”

  His mouth twitched into an almost-smile. “You couldn’t be that bad.”

  “No, it’s true. I burn everything. My mom says there was no such thing as burnt water before I was born.”

  “Are you and your mother close?”

  “I guess so.” My stomach flip-flopped. I stared out the window at the lightening gray and shoveled another bite into my mouth. The weight of his stare heated my face, and I sensed the wheels turning in his head, trying to figure out if he should push for more information or let it drop.

  “The deception about your father…is that why you feel you can’t go home?”

  “It’s a lot of things.” I hated the tremor in my voice, hated how allowing my thoughts to drift anywhere near that night still filled me with terror. I pushed my plate away. My mom wasn’t the only problem.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I have no right to pry.”

  I faced him with a tentative smile. “Where does your family live?”

  “Seattle.”

  “Do you visit them often?”

  “No.” He grabbed our plates, and I sensed him withdrawing again. Aidan did not like to talk about himself. The observation only heightened my curiosity.

  I joined him at the sink. “Now I guess I’m the one doing the prying.”

  He rinsed the few dishes from breakfast before he spoke. “You’re not prying. My family is just complicated. I haven’t spoken to my father in years.”

  “I’m sorry. I had no idea.” I wasn’t sure what else to say. Every time I tried to get answers from him, I only ended up with more questions. “What about the rest of your family?”

  “I keep in contact with my mother, and my brother and I are pretty close, all things considered.” He gestured toward the living room. “The couch is more comfortable than those barstools.”

  I recognized a shift in conversation when I saw one. He ushered me into the living room, his hand feathering across the small of my back, and I sank into the cool leather of his couch. He claimed the cushion next to me. Silence blanketed the room as we both studied the gray scene outside. A seagull flew past, chased by its mate. Aidan lightly tapped his foot against the carpet.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” he finally asked.

  I didn’t have to ask what he was referring to. Retelling the dream would only bring him pain, slice open old wounds, possibly even inflame the rage I feared lurked inside him.

  “Is that what all of this chit-chat has been about? You trying to warm me up so you can interrogate me?” I prefaced the question with a teasing grin, but deep down, his need to pick apart my head unsettled me.

  “Here I thought we were getting to know each other, and you go and accuse me of having ulterior motives.”

  “Don’t you?”

  “Yeah, I do. My motive is to keep you safe.” He leaned forward, one hand pressing into the leather cushion, agonizingly close to my thigh. “Whatever you dreamed about this morning, it rattled you. Tell me what you saw.”

  I couldn’t think straight with him so close, and the truth spilled out before I could stop it. “I saw the night you found your wife.”

  Dropping his head, he let out a breath. “You dreamed of Deb?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Did you see him?” He scooted even closer, moving his hand to the back of the couch, and his knee bumped mine.

  “No,” I said quietly. “Just you. Your house, the candles in the bedroom, the birthday card and banner, the…the picture of her.” I lowered my gaze because facing the grief etched in his expression tore me up. He was remembering that night right along with me. “I watched you find her.”

  “You saw everything as if you were there?”

  “I didn’t mean to see it.” I felt like a voyeur, though I witnessed the morbid instead of people getting naked.

  He shifted on the couch again, and I swallowed hard. “Look at me, Mackenzie.”

  Slowly, I raised my eyes to his.

  “Don’t ever apologize for your gift.”

  “It’s not a gift. It’s a curse.”

  “Nothing about you is cursed. It can’t be easy, seeing what you do in your dreams.”

  “Can I ask you something?”

  “Anything.”

  “What happened? Why did he…? I mean, from what I saw, it didn’t seem random.”

  “It wasn’t.” Pinching the bridge of his nose, he closed his eyes for a moment. “He sent me on a wild goose chase. Deb had been missing for two days, and when I got home…well you saw it. It was personal. Not random at all.”

  “Do you have any idea why?”

  He shook his head. “Sickos like him don’t need reasons. He used to send letters to my paper. After a while he addressed them to me. Challenges, taunts. I got too involved with the case.” His breath shuddered out. “No, that’s an understatement. I was obsessed, and Deb paid the price for it.”

  “It’s not your fault, Aidan.”

  He didn’t agree with or deny it. Instead he sidestepped the subject of guilt entirely. “These dreams of yours, they might be the key to finding him.”

  “Yeah, about that…I have an idea.”

  He raised a brow. “I’m not going to like this idea, am I?”

  “Why would you think that?”

  “Because you have that look about you.”

  “What look? You don’t know me well enough to know all of my ‘looks’ yet.”

  “I know trouble when I see it. What are you cooking up in that mind of yours?”

  “Nothing. I thought we already went over this. My cooking skills are nada, remember?” I was stalling, and he knew it.

 
“Just spit it out.”

  “Okay, but hear me out first.”

  He shook his head, a wry quirk to his mouth. “I’m all ears, Mackenzie.”

  “Well…you believe he’s after me next, right?”

  “I pray that I’m wrong.”

  “What if you aren’t? The guy got into my apartment. I think we can assume he’s got his eye on me.” I was surprised at how steady my voice was, considering we were talking about a serial killer breaking into my apartment. “We can use this to our advantage.”

  He groaned. “You’re not beating around the bush, you’re bludgeoning it to death. Just give it to me already. What’s your idea?”

  “I say we use me as bait.”

  “I say you’ve lost your mind.”

  “It could work…it could really work. We might be able to get the sheriff’s department involved too. Once they catch him, Watcher’s Point will be safe again. Six will have justice. Your wife will have justice.”

  “I don’t care about justice!” He gripped my shoulders, and we were so close that his breath, laced with a hint of maple syrup, teased my lips. My body flushed, my heart pounding so hard, I was certain he heard it.

  Aidan’s gaze roamed over my face before stalling on my mouth. “I don’t know whether to kiss you or lock you in a closet and guard the damn door.”

  My breath caught. I pressed my thighs together, but the images his words brought forth dampened my panties. “I vote for kissing, unless you plan to join me in the closet.”

  He pulled his anguished eyes back to mine. “You’re killing me,” he whispered, searching my face, and I wondered if he guessed at how often I thought about him. Like twenty-four seven.

  “Aidan—”

  “You need to get this idiotic idea out of your head right now. Over my dead body will you be the bait for a serial killer.” He let go of my shoulders and inched back until we no longer touched.

  Disappointment sliced me, sharp enough to cut through bone. In the back of my mind, I wondered if he’d done that on purpose—used the sexual tension between us to knock me off my axis.

  “It’s not an idiotic idea.” I glared at him.