He needed to cling to the hope that Grace was alive.
She needed him.
He couldn’t leave this cell and help her if he lost his shit.
He expelled several deep breaths and straightened his body.
“Let me out so we can go get my woman,” he told Briggs with a dead calm.
*****
“I could lose my badge for this.”
Briggs raised the yellow tape and let Millie and Cassie cross the threshold of Kyra’s home. Matt followed them inside. Despite their numerous hookups, Matt had never seen the inside of Kyra’s house. He always kept it as impersonal as possible, preferring to use a motel. He had, on a few occasions, taken Kyra home, but that was about it. After sex he was done. No cuddling, no sleeping together, and definitely no breakfast together.
Seeing all the drug paraphernalia scattered on the coffee table, he regretted that he didn’t treat Kyra better. He was so afraid of giving mixed signals, he forgot how to be a friend. If he’d tried to be a friend then maybe he would have recognized that she wasn’t acting like herself.
The Reaper wouldn’t have gotten to Kyra.
Even without hard evidence, Matt was operating under the assumption that The Reaper was behind Grace’s abduction, and he’d orchestrated the whole scheme starting with manipulating Kyra through to Cristiano’s ambush.
If Kyra hadn’t been murdered, Matt would never have been taken into custody, and he could have protected his wife. Grace would still be here.
Or would she though?
Did things happen for a reason? Would he have been killed, too, by Cristiano’s sneak attack?
“How long did they say she’s been dead?” Matt asked, staring at the chalk outline on the carpet.
“Forty-eight hours,” Briggs replied.
“No fingerprint results yet?” Millie asked, rounding back to them after inspecting the kitchen.
“No. They found the body yesterday afternoon from an anonymous tip. She had strangulation marks on her neck and needle marks on both arms. They have not established cause of death,” the deputy replied. Matt was thankful to Frank Briggs for getting him out of the detention cell. All assault charges had been dropped given the extenuating circumstances or some macho bullshit they didn’t want publicized because it had been eight deputies against Matt. But nothing was for free, and he was sure there’d be some free vehicle repair work coming his way since he’d beaten the shit out of six of them.
Briggs had to cut his camping trip short because the deputy-in-charge didn’t know what to do what with having the sheriff’s brother-in-law arrested. Not to mention what appeared to be another biker war erupting in front of Matt’s garage. He’d worry about the repercussions later.
His first objective was to find Grace.
“One of the investigators mentioned that Kyra was driving a car other than her own. A blue Toyota Corolla,” Briggs said. “I’m having someone look into stolen and rented vehicles in the past month.”
“You might have to go back further than that,” Matt said. “Back to the day of the airport bombing almost six weeks ago.”
Cassie came down from the second floor. “This doesn’t make sense. I don’t see evidence that Kyra had stayed here for a while. The bed looks slept in, but the trashcan in the bathroom is empty, and there are water lines in the toilet bowl.”
“Kyra’s OCD about her bathroom and kitchen is legendary,” Millie said, walking to the fridge and opening the door. “All the food that looks like it can crawl in there? Not her style.”
“Drugs can change a person,” Briggs shrugged.
“But even so, that’s not Kyra,” Cassie said. “She wouldn’t resort to drugs because she’s hung up on a guy.” His sister glared at him.
“When will the toxicology report come back?” Matt asked.
“This afternoon—I expedited it,” Briggs replied. “We should be hearing about the exact cause of death later this evening.”
“Trent’s coming back this afternoon,” Cassie said. “Colt and Lucas too. They’re not attending the Homeland Security dinner and heading straight home.”
Matt nodded. “I think we should go door to door and ask if the neighbors have seen anything.”
“Now, Foster, I can’t have you doing that,” Briggs said. “If anyone finds out I let you guys in here, I’d get into a lot of trouble.”
“It’s been eight hours, Frank,” Matt said tersely. “Every hour we don’t find her, is another hour she could be getting tortured.” Or worse. Even as he tried to block out the thoughts of that madman violating Grace’s body, he couldn’t. It had been at the forefront of his mind, and he’d been a powder keg with a short fuse since he’d found out she’d been taken.
“Go back to the garage, Foster,” Briggs advised. “Let my men do their jobs. Axe and the rest of your men need you there. You lost one of your own.”
“You think Roger would want me to sit on my ass and not look for Grace?” Matt snapped. “You’re forgetting who we are.”
“Matt,” Millie broke in gently. “Let’s go back to Misty Grove and gather all the help we need. Grace is one of our own, and we’re not abandoning her.”
“Shit,” Briggs muttered, looking at Cassie. “Your husband better come back soon. I’m too old for this shit. Keeping your town out of trouble is his problem now.”
“I’m going to close the diner and we’ll establish home base there,” Millie said. “Frank, do you know if your CSI techs are done processing the scene of Cristiano’s ambush by The Reaper?”
“Suspected ambush by The Reaper,” Briggs corrected.
“It’s him. Why can’t you just establish that as a fact?” Matt growled.
“Listen, Foster,” Briggs said. “You guys keep all the shit that’s happening in your town to yourselves and then shit explodes and the sheriff’s department catches the flak. We’re doing this by the book, and we’re starting from scratch because we know nothing about The Reaper, and there ain’t no file on him in our office.”
“Trent should have one. He was at the hospital after Grace was first attacked by The Reaper,” Cassie chirped.
Briggs sighed. “It’s probably one he hasn’t entered as a department case file. To be honest, what’s happening with The Reaper right now appears bigger than a county problem. The reason the sheriff probably kept it off radar was because he didn’t want the Feds taking an interest in it and taking the case away from him, especially with many of our own people involved.”
“Then maybe you should call your investigators off and set us loose,” Matt suggested.
“I’d rather that be the sheriff’s call.”
“We’re wasting time worrying about jurisdiction,” Millie said. “We need people doing the footwork finding out what the neighbors have seen.”
“I agree,” Matt concurred. He couldn’t wait to go a’hunting.
The Reaper had just become the hunted.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Grace
The seconds turned to minutes, and the minutes turned to hours. I eventually lost track of how long I’d been in that room. The man who took me from Cristiano didn’t remove my hood or my bindings. He carried me from the car like a bride. His voice sounded different from my memory of The Reaper, and I wondered if there was a third player who was after me. There was something eerily familiar about him, but I was too scared to find out. Because if he was indeed The Reaper, life as I had known it was finished. El Segador had an extremely high success rate with his kills. Only two percent had gotten away, and they’d been horribly maimed.
As if my thoughts conjured the horror in my mind, a man’s scream broke the silence. It made my skin crawl like a thousand tiny ants had sprouted from the mattress I’d been laying on. The scratchy hood was suffocating, and my unseeing eyes were driving me crazy. That was my new abductor’s goal—sensory torture. There was another howl of pain and then I heard another man speak. His voice was low and muffled.
As the minutes passe
d, cold sweat trickled down my brow and I wanted to sob, but I was afraid to make a sound. I also needed to pee so bad. I thought I may be able to give the man who was being tortured some respite and stop the chilling screams.
“Some help here!” I shouted. I should’ve been shot for my stupid martyr behavior. “I need to use the bathroom!”
Silence.
Then a door opened and closed somewhere down a hallway and I heard footsteps as they approached. The door to my room opened, creaking creepily just like in the horror movies. I turned to the direction of the sound and felt eyes staring at me.
“I need to pee,” I whispered.
A low chuckle echoed in the room as the foot falls moved closer. I felt a dip in the mattress, warmth touched the side of my thighs and it took all of my willpower not to flinch. It took a bigger effort not to tremble when a hand landed on my hip to caress it like it had the right to do so. “My poor angel, I’ve been neglecting you.”
Please neglect me all you want, I really just need to pee, I thought.
“I need to use the bathroom,” I requested in a meek voice. “Can you remove the hood? I want to see you.”
His hesitation was palpable. He had lifted the hood from me in the car to flash a light on me, probably to make sure it was me, but he had hooded me again, and I was left in darkness after that.
He left the bed and some light passed through the spaces of the weave of my head cover. I held my breath as fingers slowly lifted my hood away. My eyes blinked, adjusting to the flood of light, and then focused on the face before me.
A man with dark hair and eyes I would never forget stood before me. If he was indeed obsessed with me, I hoped I could use it to my advantage.
“It’s you,” I said softly.
I was surprised to see an extremely attractive man with strong angular features, a patrician nose, and firm lips. He was lean and didn’t appear very tall. He smiled, his perfect teeth gleaming against his tanned skin.
“Of course, it’s me, Grace. I said I was coming back for you.”
“You sound different.”
“They always assume a Mexican cartel’s assassin is Mexican.”
“Misdirection.”
“Exactly.”
“So, you are—”
“Not Mexican,” he evaded with another smile.
I pursed my lips. “Can I use the bathroom now?”
“Certainly,” he pulled me up. “I’ll even do you one better. You can shower and change. I have clothes laid out for you.”
He must have felt my body stiffen as he frowned at me when I got up to my feet.
“You do not want to clean up?” He asked as he cut the flex-ties with a switchblade and pocketed it behind his jeans.
“I don’t want to wear clothes that don’t belong to me,” I tried to find an excuse.
“Are you worried they belonged to Kyra?”
Fresh terror rattled through me. “You … you’re the one who … but why?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” His voice turned harsh as he shoved me toward the adjoining bathroom. “To get Foster out of my way.”
Fury blinded me and I attacked him. “You killed an innocent woman.” I punched his jaw.
“Ow!” I shouted as my knuckles hit hard bone. He cursed and grabbed my arms, twisting them painfully behind me.
“Your meek and cooperative behavior only lasted so long, didn’t it?” he sneered. “You may be my obsession, cara, but do not mistake me as what do you call it? Pussy-whipped?”
When we got to the bathroom, he laughed cruelly as he began to pull my pajama bottoms down along with my panties. I struck uselessly against his shoulder, and he gripped my wrists and pushed me to sit down on the toilet.
“You’ve lost your right to privacy,” he told me.
“You expect me to pee in front of you?” I asked in disbelief.
“Yes. And if you don’t do so immediately, I’m going to assume you don’t need to go really badly, and you’ll just have to wet the bed.”
My cheeks burned knowing he’d do it too.
“I … can you maybe wait outside the door?”
“No.”
“Please?”
He glared at me. There was a cut on his lip, and I was surprised he didn’t hurt me back given the blood-curdling screams I heard earlier.
“Make it quick,” he bit out tersely.
As I relaxed into unloading my bladder, I decided to push the thought of poor Kyra aside, and concentrate on surviving. “What’s your name?”
There was a bark of sarcastic laughter. “You’re too cute, my love. You’re still trying to win me over.”
“I’m not being cute. I’ll need to call you a name eventually.” Despite my fear, I was partly annoyed that he wasn’t some psychopath I could manipulate.
“Why … when I haven’t decided if I’m going to keep you?”
“You don’t want me anymore?” I asked, trying to sound hurt.
“Are you finished yet?” he asked in irritation.
I finished up and pulled my panties and pajamas back on and walked out the bathroom. He caught my arm and hauled me back into the bathroom.
“You can call me Ric.”
“As in Ricardo? I’m thinking you look Italian and you called me cara.”
His smile was wolfish. “You’re fishing for information.”
Ric started unbuttoning my pajama top. My hands shot up and gripped his wrists. “What the hell are you doing?”
“I was right.” His eyes grew cold, as a muscle in his jaw ticked. “You’re playing me.”
“Ric, I … you’re going too fast.” I licked my lips and stared at his mouth. He inhaled sharply.
I needed to try a different tack. “I’m in love with my husband,” I said and cried out as his fingers gripped my hair and yanked it back. The anger in his eyes almost made me swallow my tongue, but I had to remain steady. “But I’m pragmatic.” I ended in a pained gasp when his other hand circled my neck and squeezed. “I’ll do what you ask, but this is not the way to make me love you,” I added desperately.
He lowered his furious face to mine. “I don’t need your love.”
“What do you want from me then?” I whispered.
The anger in his face lessened as his eyes seared into mine. “I want to drown in those beautiful green eyes, cara. I want to hear you scream my name as I make you feel pain and pleasure. I want this.”
He captured my lips, shoving his tongue inside my mouth in a brutal kiss. Bending me backwards over the sink. He kept his hands where they were and his grip tightened around my neck, his fingers yanking my head back further by the hair. Tears prickled my eyes with the pain in my scalp; my breathing fractured as my airway constricted. But he didn’t seem to care, seemingly taking pleasure in my continued asphyxiation.
I struggled, clawing at his back as he pushed me almost horizontal on the sink. My hand found the switchblade in his pocket. The edges of my vision started to dim. My throat and hair were released and his hand went to my wrist, but he was too late. I’d managed to plunge the blade into his side.
I gulped in oxygen.
He cursed and intensified his grip on my wrist until I had to let go and leave the weapon embedded in his side. I pulled back my legs and shoved my feet against his chest, sending him flying through the bathroom door and into the bedroom.
“Shit. Shit. Shit!” I shouted as I jumped off the sink and ran into the room. I glanced around wildly, spotting a lamp. I yanked its cord from the socket, plunging the room into the dim light of dawn. Picking up my improvised weapon, I smashed it on Ric’s head.
He fell back groaning, and I thought about grabbing the knife from his side. However, he swept his arm out as if to grab my foot, so I leapt out of his way and sprinted out of the room. I closed the door and realized it was bolted from the outside. I slid it closed and locked the motherfucker inside. That should buy me a little time at least. His roar of fury raised the little hairs on my nape as I tried to shake
off the murder burning in his eyes when I escaped him.
I looked both ways down the hallway and saw two doors on each side.
“Is anyone here?” I yelled. I had no time to search room to room.
“Who’s there?” An answering voice yelled.
Damn it. It looked like it came from the end of the hallway away from the open room which was likely a kitchen. I ran to that room and unlocked the bolt. I switched on the light and was jarred by the sight of the man, bloody, blindfolded and tied to a chair.
I knew that man.
“Elliot?”
“Grace, is that you?”
“Oh my God, he got you too?” I yanked the blindfold from his face.
“Where is he?” he asked urgently.
“I knocked him down and locked him in a room, but I don’t know if he’s going to be down for long,” I said, desperately looking around the room for something to cut the flex ties. “Can you break out of them?”
Elliot looked defeated. “He beat me bad, Grace. I don’t have any energy left.”
“Okay, hold on.” I resisted the urge to shake him and tell him to snap out of it. I dashed out of the room, hesitating briefly past where I’d locked Ric and made it to the kitchen. I searched all the drawers, finding a paring knife and a set of car keys, but no other weapons.
When I passed my former bedroom again, I heard something ram against its door. I nearly thought of abandoning Elliot and just make a run for it, but I’d probably pissed Ric off so much he’d probably take it out on my boss. Pushing all other thoughts aside, I ran back to where Elliot was and closed the door and looked at other escape routes. There were boarded up windows. It appeared we’d been held in an old ranch house so we didn’t have to leap through any second story windows.
“We’ll have to take him on together,” I told Elliot urgently as I cut through his bindings. “You have to suck it up, boss, I’m going to need your help.”
The words barely left my mouth when I heard a crash of the door.
Saving Grace (Misty Grove Book 2) Page 22
