Skin Heat

by Ava Gray

  Hebert took him at his word and poked around for a good fifteen minutes. Zeke heard him rifling through drawers, though he’d tried to be quiet about it. If movies could be believed, he expected to find souvenirs like pictures, shoes, locks of hair, or chunks of polished bone. If the guy thought him guilty, it was a wonder he was brave enough to stay out here alone, having spoken of his suspicions. Maybe he had a death wish.

  The agent smelled angry by the time he came back to the parlor, angry and frustrated. Those scents were sharp and spicy, like jalapeño peppers and thyme. “Thanks for your cooperation.”

  Maybe it wasn’t smart but he couldn’t resist asking, “Find anything good?”

  Hebert responded with a soft, cruel laugh. “By the way, I think I’ve discovered the connection between victims. We already knew they all had brown eyes and brown hair. But it seems they all wore a uniform, too. We have a beautician, a dental hygienist, a registered nurse, and a cafeteria worker. Who else do you know that fits that profile?” He paused, visibly enjoying Zeke’s distress. “But you probably already knew, didn’t you? I mean you tried to snatch her already. After she left you.”

  And the chill of that fear sank straight into his bones. Zeke scrambled for his keys. It didn’t matter that she hated him and she wanted nothing to do with him. He had to keep her safe. Maybe Hebert had planted that seed just to see what he would do. Maybe the guy had been lying, or this was a trap. But he couldn’t take chances with her safety.

  This meant he’d have to brave Harper Court again—and her parents, as well as that smug son of a bitch who’d put his hands all over her. The anger rose up, and the beast part of him roared in outrage. He flattened it, and the creature responded to his dominance as it never had before. It quieted, acknowledging him as master. Though it was a part of him, he ruled it, and not the other way around.

  The truck took three tries before it started. Probably wouldn’t run much longer. But as long as it got him where he needed to go this time—and faster than he could run—he’d be grateful to the thing forever. No matter how much he hated driving. The old fear kicked in as soon as the engine caught.

  Sweat beaded his brow but he ignored that, as he ignored the beast whimpering in his head. Zeke stomped on the gas, spitting gravel behind his rear wheels. She’s probably safe, he told himself. Hebert was fucking with you. Pushing your buttons. He was just mad he didn’t find anything. He’s hoping you’ll lead him somewhere. Your killing field.

  But he couldn’t quiet the animal terror swamping him in waves. It didn’t come from the unnatural speed at which he hurtled down the rough, country road. Twilight now. The trees were spindly skeletons reaching for the car. Too fast. He shouldn’t be moving this fast. It made him sick especially with his own hands on the wheel.

  No choice. Got to make sure she’s okay.

  He’d find her safe and sound at Harper Court, eating her dinner and angry to see him turn up unexpectedly. Maybe she’d yell at him some more for being a coward, and that would be fine, too. Just, please, let her be there. Keep her safe.

  So pale it glowed against the night sky, the house was so beautiful it shook him, with its manicured lawn and graceful columns. This was where she came from. He’d known that all along, and yet he’d dared put his hands on her. How crazy.

  It took all his courage to climb out of the truck with its awful rusted side panels and the engine that kept knocking until he pounded with both fists on the front door. Long moments passed—and he died repeatedly in his head—until the housekeeper tugged the door open. She regarded him with frosty disapproval.

  “All maintenance work is done through the back door,” she scolded, “and we have no repairs scheduled today. It’s nearly supper time!”

  “Neva home? She all right?” The beast whined, cowering from the images in his head. Their woman dead in the woods, eternally cold and pale . . . strangled by some monster’s hands.

  No.

  “Young man, I demand you leave at once! You are hardly the sort of person Ms. Harper would—”

  “What’s all the fuss?” a familiar voice asked.

  Zeke recognized the sound of Lillian Harper’s voice and the smell of her perfume long before she came into sight. He pushed past the startled housekeeper and strode into the foyer, his breath coming in ragged gulps. How he wanted to see Neva following behind her mother, but she wasn’t there. Confusion and ire scented the room, black pepper mixed with lime.

  “Neva?” He spun in a slow circle as if they could produce her from thin air.

  “She said she wasn’t coming straight home from work tonight,” Lillian said slowly. “I believe she meant to help decorate Julie’s place for the Christmas party.”

  He was finding it hard to form words. The beast wanted to run and to fight, preferably both. It wanted an enemy to maul for making it feel this way. So did he.

  “Call. Please.”

  “Trudy, you may go. I’ll attend to Mr. Noble.”

  The housekeeper stomped off, muttering about men with the manners of wild pigs. He ignored her as Mrs. Harper led the way to a formal study and picked up a cordless phone. She dialed, her scent wafting in layers of muted alarm mixed with expensive perfume. The phone rang for a very long time; he listened to each one, and then Neva’s voice mail kicked in. He heard each word as if she whispered in his ear.

  I can’t come to the phone right now. Please leave me a message.

  Can’t. Why did that word sound so terrifying?

  “I’ll try Julie’s place.”

  But he already knew it was pointless. Her mother got the answering machine and now her alarm ripened into fright. Her hands clenched around the handset.

  “What should we do?” Mrs. Harper asked him. “I trust you have reason to fear for her. What do we do?”

  He shrugged. The beast surged again and this time he let it lead.

  “I have to call my husband. He . . . he’ll know what to do. No, not again. Not like this. Not Geneva.” Mrs. Harper trembled on the edge of a complete breakdown.

  They were such small signs of something out of place, and it was too soon for such a reaction. The police might say they had to wait twenty-four hours before she officially became missing. And most times, those twenty-fours would make the difference between life and death. Then again, Sheriff Raleigh answered to the Harpers for his election money, so he might mount a search right this minute. That was their business.

  If he didn’t act now, he would lose her for good. No second chances. No, maybe-someday-when-I-get-my-shit-together. Forever. He couldn’t face that—life without her would be unbearable. If he had to face an endless death march of days, knowing she was dead and rotten in the ground, then he’d take his mother’s road.

  Zeke ignored Mrs. Harper, racing through the house to the veranda doors he’d used to flee the night of the party. He slammed them open and went into the dark. Now that he let himself think about her again, now that he wasn’t blocking all signs of her existence, he could smell her on the night wind.

  Sour. Acrid. Terror. Somewhere, Neva was fighting for her life.

  CHAPTER 21

  Neva woke in darkness.

  She remembered coming out of the clinic and pausing to admire the Christmas lights, then a stinging in her neck. Everything went sideways after that, no more than bits and pieces. The backseat of a car floated up, swimming as if through disco lights, and next, a rumbling engine. Broken whispers. Wasn’t supposed to be like this. Not like this. Someone had moaned those words with such pain, that she had felt almost sorry for the speaker. And then the lights went out.

  Damn. I was drugged. Knowing about the potential danger hadn’t saved her in the end. It had seemed so harmless, that pause, admiring the white lights twined around the poles, and taking pleasure in how they twinkled in the dark. She’d been sad since breaking up with Zeke, and it was nice to enjoy a simple thing after a long day. God, I’m so stupid.

  Panic tried to swamp her and she fought it off. No. Not y
our fault. You didn’t do this. Your job is to stay calm and find a way out. You’re not a victim. You won’t become a statistic. An evil little voice whispered, Wonder if the other women thought that at first, too. The world swam again, and the next time she knew anything, she was somewhere else. Hard floor—and it reeked.

  Her wrists had been tied behind her back, and she ached all over. Getting out of her bonds had to be the first item on a long, impossible list. A tiny sob escaped her.

  “I’m not going to let him hurt you.”

  “Luke? Oh my God, Luke.” If she hadn’t gone mad, that was definitely her brother’s voice. If only she could see—

  “Shh. Try to stay calm. As soon as he realizes you’ve come around, he’ll be back to finish us.”

  “Why’s he doing this?”

  “He never said. The only thing I know is that he wants me to watch you die before he kills me.” His flat tone worried her, as if he had gone far beyond the emotions wracking her.

  She trembled with fear and cold. Behind her, she felt the individual blocks of a cement wall. Between her fingers trailed loose dirt. It stank of human excrement and urine, mildew and must. A faint breeze blew in from somewhere, indicating they weren’t too far from freedom. But in which direction?

  “Do you know who he is?”

  “The voice is a little familiar, maybe, but he stands behind the light so I can’t get a good look at him.”

  So it was someone they knew. So hard to fathom—someone in Harper Creek hated them that much. Their parents must be going crazy, losing not one child, but two. And Luke doesn’t even know about Dad . . . but this wasn’t the time to tell him. She had to fight past the fuzz in her head and come up with a plan.

  “What can you tell me about him?”

  “He wasn’t himself when he brought you in. Out of control and raving. I think he’d been drinking. I never smelled it on him before tonight . . . and he’d sometimes come in several times a week to stare at me. Taunt me.”

  “Christ, you’ve been here for months. You need a doctor.”

  Luke made a soft sound. “Forget that. You only have one chance.” He paused, and she heard him breathing. “I’m too weak . . . I’ve been here too long. But I can help you get away. I’ll distract him.”

  Sickness roiled in her stomach. “No. I’m not leaving you.”

  “I’m lost,” Luke said softly. “And if you stay, so will you be. When it’s time, run and don’t look back.”

  “Run where?”

  She couldn’t see the way out, nor did she know where they were. The dark assumed nightmare shapes. Neva had no idea how Luke had survived with his sanity intact; she’d only been awake for a few moments, and she was already sick with terror. Her brother was far stronger than she’d known.

  “He comes in from the right. In daytime, you can see enough to get a sense of the place. It’s a root cellar, though I couldn’t tell you exactly where.”

  “What happened, Luke?”

  “I stopped to help somebody I thought had car trouble.”

  That tracked. So when he’d tried it with her, he had the assurance of having used the lure successfully before. Something must have happened, leading him to grab her boldly outside the clinic and say to hell with finesse. There might even have been witnesses to her abduction; Armando’s had still been open when she left work.

  “I appreciate you wanting to save me, but we’re both getting out of here.” Trying to be quiet, she wriggled around and then scooted until she could feel him behind her. “Can you cut me loose?”

  “The chain’s rough and rusted. I might be able to saw through. I can’t unpick the knots. I told you . . .” His voice fell, nearly soundless. “I’m . . . not well.”

  All the more reason for them to get the hell out of here. Maybe Luke couldn’t run, but if they could slip away before the maniac returned, he could hide somewhere. The most important thing had to be getting out of here. Her shoulders were already burning from being pulled back for a few hours. She couldn’t imagine how Luke felt.

  They didn’t speak while he worked on her bonds. The sawing occasionally hurt, but she made no noise. Each heartbeat sounded insanely loud in the dark. Neva grew conscious of Luke’s labored breathing, like there was fluid in his lungs. Shit, he hadn’t been exaggerating. All this time in the cold, improper nutrition—not to mention the darkness and maybe festering wounds, too—God, she had to save him. Fate wouldn’t be so cruel as to prove her intuition right—that Luke was alive against all odds—only to make her watch him die. Or worse, force her to save her own skin while he sacrificed himself.

  No, that wasn’t happening.

  “How’s it coming?” she whispered.

  His fingers brushed over the bonds in a rattle of chain. “About halfway. It’s starting to fray.”

  “Enough for me to break it if I strain?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  She tried. While the rope gave a little, it wasn’t enough, and she only succeeded in hurting her shoulders. “Keep at it. Once you untie me, I’ll find a way to get you out of those cuffs.”

  “So stubborn,” he breathed. “You always were.”

  “That’s why I’m a vet now and not a politician’s wife.”

  Fear wanted to bubble up through the cracks in her defenses, but she refused to let it. This situation would’ve been much worse if she’d woken alone. Luke helped her keep it together, whether he knew it or not. If he could survive as long as he had, then she could manage this, too, however impossible the task seemed.

  At last the final knot snapped and she pulled free. Pins and needles prickled through her forearms, and she was cold, but things could be a lot worse. Neva felt her way around the room, finding with her fingertips what felt like animal bones. Oh, Christ. A soft whimper escaped her.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. Just looking for something to cut you free.”

  This time, he didn’t try to convince her to leave him. Most likely he knew it wouldn’t work. Waste of breath. “Let me think. I know what’s down here . . .” He trailed off on a sigh. “There’s nothing. No tools. Just a few jars on the far shelves.”

  She had already worked that out for herself. “Then you may not like plan B.”

  “I like being here even less.”

  Luke had always been able to make her smile. “Point. I need you to be quiet then, no matter how much it hurts.”

  “What?”

  “I’m going to pop your thumbs and pull your hand out before it swells. I’ll have to do it to both hands. I’m sorry.”

  “Quit talking about it. I’m ready.”

  Maybe he was. She wasn’t. The plan sounded good in the abstract, but in practice, she hated the idea of hurting him. Nevertheless, she steeled herself, found his hand in the dark, and brailled the location of the shackle versus his thumb. He’d lost weight since they had been attached, so that would make it easier. Neva took a deep breath and snapped, then in a quick motion, she dragged the shackle over his hand.

  Luke swallowed a sound, but she didn’t think it would be audible in the house, though they seemed to be on the other side of the foundation wall. His breath came in pained rasps, and she put a hand on his filthy hair. She wanted so bad to hug him but they didn’t have time for that. They needed to run. Right now, in her shoes, somebody else might be making plans on how to kill the bastard; she just wanted to save her brother.

  “Ready?” she whispered.

  With her palm on his head, she felt him nod. Time for round two. This time she went even faster because she knew what to do, and he swallowed his scream. He wrenched forward, his thin chest colliding with hers. Neva held him for a few seconds, and then she got her hands beneath his elbows. Using the wall for purchase, she levered him to his feet.

  “This way,” he said. “Try not to step on anything.”

  Each step they took felt like a mile. Neither of them was particularly steady on their feet, Luke from the long captivity and the fr
esh injuries she’d inflicted, and Neva from the residual effects of being drugged. Still, they managed to get to the stairs: old rickety things of creaking wood. If the wind hadn’t kicked up outside it certainly would’ve given them away. Any moment she expected to see a murderer’s form looming above them, a boot lashing out to kick them back down into the dark. Terror sent tremors through her. She went up behind Luke, sometimes shoving him up another step when he faltered. He fumbled with the latch. Oh no. If they’d gotten this far, only to be turned back—

  “Is the door locked?”

  “I can usually hear him putting the chains on. Don’t think he remembered this time. Something was wrong—and got it.” With a grunt of effort, her brother pushed the doors wide. They banged against the ground with a soft thud, rattling the chains the killer had left open in distraction or despair, whatever drove him.

  Shit, he’s going to hear us. Even if he’s drunk, even if he’s not at the top of his game, this is still his territory. We have to hurry.

  Luke scrambled up, falling forward onto his knees. She came up beside him. Nothing had ever been more welcome than the brisk, fresh breeze pouring over her. Damp ground, and the scent of pine . . . Neva spun, trying to figure out where they were. She’d never seen this house before, set deep in the forest. Boards had rotted away in places like jagged, graying teeth. Someone had covered all the windows in black tar paper. It looked . . . desolate, ruined, like a place that campers found in the woods, just before the axe-wielding maniac beheaded one of them.

  This is not time for my imagination to kick in. If she let it, she’d conjure demons in each dry branch and gust of wind. Already the cracking limbs reminded her of breaking bone. They needed to find a road or a house with normal people inside. Something slammed nearby, like a door, or possibly breaking furniture. Had the bastard heard them? They needed as much of a head start as they could manage, and they couldn’t count on him leaving them alone forever. It had been a lucky break that she shook off the drugs quicker than expected.