When Fall Fades (The Girl Next Door Series Book 1)

by Simpson, Amy Leigh

  Then he jerked back, releasing her, and began muttering to himself in a fit of fury. Wonderful. Her survival was teetering on the edge of this big, brutal man’s tumultuous psychological stability.

  Breathe.

  She had to be smart about this, tread carefully, but this kind of terror was powerful and irrational. She could feel the emotion reinjecting into her veins like a shot of epinephrine.

  She spoke tenderly to calm him, despite her heart rate sprinting toward tachycardia. “I don’t know what you are talking about. And Charlie is dead, he can’t destroy anyone.” You killed him, almost slipped from her lips.

  He turned away, and Sadie wrestled with her restraints, biting her lip against the burn of the ropes.

  His back to her, his fists coiling as if to collect his fury, he spoke through a thinly contained rage. “You’re not listening to me.” He withdrew a utility knife from his back pocket, turned slowly to face her and protracted the blade. She stilled, the menace in his eyes chilling as he placed the razored tip at Sadie’s throat.

  Swallowing hard, the blade pressed deeper against her skin. She squeezed her eyes tight, trying to obliterate the image of the man’s poisonous stare and praying it wouldn’t be the last thing she would see on this earth.

  The prick of the knife left her skin. A warm bead of blood skated down her sternum. Then she felt something tug at the fabric of her shirt. Her eyes shot open. Her T-shirt was sliced down the center baring her—thankfully—bra-clad chest.

  He moaned. A sickening sound she hoped never to hear again. His suggestive leer made her stomach dive and her mind reel with a million wrong ways to handle this situation, but not one right way.

  “Don’t.” Was all she could manage to say.

  The crude edge of the blade scraped teasingly across the swell of her chest, a shiver of gooseflesh tightened her skin. “We’re gonna have some fun. The work truck I boosted on the way here came with all sorts of goodies.” He pulled the knife from her skin, twirled it in his palm like a revolver in an old west shootout. “If you’re a good girl, I might just let you pick which tool I use next.”

  Nauseous tremors gripped her body when she saw how this might play out. Too much time had passed. No one was coming. Archer wasn’t riding to her rescue.

  That meant if she was going to survive this, she’d have to save herself. She wasn’t exceptionally strong or brave but she was smart and tough where it counted.

  Her mind streamlined, straining to recall what Archer had said about the case—about Charlie’s time in the war. If her brain was firing on all cylinders—no way to be sure due to the slow rotation of the room and the pounding in her skull—then she surmised that this lunatic in front of her must be Reamus’s son.

  But Reamus had been a captain when Charlie was young. So unless Reamus was over a hundred years old, he’d have to be dead by now. From the way this guy was talking, he seemed to believe his father was still alive and might have something to lose if evidence from the journals ever got out.

  “I—I understand you’re trying to help your father, but what you’re looking for isn’t here. I’m sorry I can’t help you.” Sadie held her breath.

  His expression softened for a brief moment before suspicion pinched his brow. “Charlie told you to say that, didn’t he? Liars! All of you!” He blinked erratically and his body tweaked and jerked with a sort of tick—tell-tale signs of withdrawal.

  She couldn’t even flinch before he backhanded her with his fist. Pain exploded behind her eyes. Her head flopped against her shoulder, her neck limp and wrung and aching. Tangy, metallic blood awakened her taste buds, but everything else felt dormant, lifeless—like she’d been defeated with one blow.

  The pain was paralyzing. Her face, head, arms, and throat all screaming at her. She was more than thankful that he took his next bout of rage out on a stack of papers on the nearby table so she had a moment to recover. Her head lulled forward, her neck muscles like wet spaghetti failing to stabilize.

  Pages fluttered to the ground near her feet. Through the haze of tears and spotty vision she was able to make out a few words. An initial postmortem report, tox screen analysis—they appeared to be faxed copies of Charlie’s murder case files. How—?

  The sudden quiet was as frightening as the belligerent outbursts. Dirt-creased fingers lifted her chin. There was no mistaking the intent in his gaze.

  “Please don’t do this.” Her voice choked out in a pleading whisper.

  His eyes flashed with satisfaction—her display of fear only serving to stimulate his arousal.

  “The evidence, now,” he growled.

  She wasn’t a very convincing liar, but she could try and switch up her tactic. “No.” He clamped his hand over her mouth, stopping the lie about to emerge. Then he traced the pulsating column of her neck, stroked his hand across the scalloped lace of her bra and pulled the fabric down. His breathing got instantly heavy as he used punishing fingers to pinch and twist and bruise her.

  Sick sick sick!

  She held in a whimper so as not to inflame him, but he didn’t need to feed on her fear anymore. Lust and greed had overtaken him. She twisted her ankles against the ropes while he pressed his face between her breasts and breathed deeply, his hands growing more fervent in their torment.

  One calloused palm shifted down her stomach to her lap. Bile rose in Sadie’s throat as he reached a flat hand down the front of her pants and curled his fingers.

  Well beyond the threshold of controlled diplomacy, she writhed against his advances, fighting against the ropes and the grotesque hand groping her. “Help!” The strangled threads of her vocal cords broke. “Help me!” The scream emerged raspy and desperate. She jerked at the binds at her ankles again and again, banging hard against the seat, her back throbbing with each unforgiving blow.

  A sickening smirk spread across his deranged face. His free hand went to his belt and deftly released the buckle and the top button while his other filthy hand continued to touch her. “Get your hands off me, you sick creep! Somebody help me!” The fingers on his zipper stalled, then moved to squeeze around her throat. “Don’t worry, it will be over soon. But if you scream … I’ll do it again. And again. Until you give me the answers I want.”

  Piercing slivers of air barbed past her windpipe, just enough to keep her conscious while her ankles worked at the ropes. Tighter. Breathe. Tighter. Her body bowed, straining for breath. Tears leaked down her cheeks. Black spots danced in her eyes.

  This is it …

  He released her with a hard jerk. A fit of convulsive coughs wheezed in and out of her starving lungs, intensifying the thundering pain in her skull.

  He bent down, pulled on the waistband to remove her sweatpants.

  Wrenching her ankle, she felt the rope give. One foot slipped loose of the ties just as her phone fell, tangled in her pants, and clacked against the floor. He paused—reached for the phone. With that single moment of distraction she rammed her free knee into his already busted nose.

  “Bitch!” He gripped his face and fell to the floor, hunching on his elbows and knees, cursing and spraying blood.

  She was shaking, but she managed to stand, lifting with her the chair still strapped to her arms. Turning abruptly, she sat back with all of her might, forcing two of the metal legs of the chair to jab against his back, pinning him down.

  She tried to stand and deliver another blow, but the uneven force of the first jab—and the entanglement of her pants around her ankles—caught her off balance and she stumbled backward. Crash-landing against the chair, pain spread like a shock wave through her body.

  Get up. Get up and fight back.

  Struggling against the chair, she fought to regain her footing when she saw something move in her periphery.

  “Freeze, Police!”

  She froze, h
eart pounding, afraid to breathe until she heard his cuffs click into place. And then, and only then, did her fight surrender, her battered body collapsing against the toppled chair in a disjointed heap, her sobs unleashing. It was over. She had survived.

  “Are you okay, Miss?” Another officer appeared and helped free her from the chair.

  She couldn’t speak to answer—wasn’t sure she knew the answer.

  She was alive but was she okay? Everything ached, and the room swayed again as the officer helped her off the floor.

  Sadie looked down, realized she was standing in front of two male police officers in her mangled bra and underwear, and about fainted. Thankfully one of them steadied her so she could adjust and reach down to gather her pants. She pulled at her now open front T-shirt to conceal her chest, crossed her arms over what wasn’t covered, and did her best to keep her chin up while they escorted her out.

  A swarm of police cars had arrived by the time she got to the lot. Red and blue flashes of light reflected off the night sky, stirring up another round of staggering steps as her equilibrium endeavored to right itself against the kaleidoscope.

  She was still in survival mode, and wasn’t sure she’d feel safe until …

  She halted that thought, and instead, searched for the only person she wanted to see. But as she scanned the bustling scene, her hopes shattered.

  Maybe she really had messed things up beyond repair. And maybe that was her answer.

  After being wrapped in a blanket and seen by a paramedic, Sadie was violated all over again as she was asked to submit her clothes and was scrubbed for evidence. She changed into the scrubs they provided and was asked to come to the FBI office to give her account of the incident.

  Incident? Is that really what they wanted to call her abduction and attempted rape? Exhaustion in its truest form took over her achy body. The last thing she wanted to do was take a ride downtown and rehash the living nightmare, but at least the worst was over and all of this would be put to rest. Charlie’s family would have their closure, and Sadie? She would go back to waiting for a miracle that would never come.

  After an awkwardly silent escort to the FBI building, Sadie sat in a virtual prison behind a metal table. The bite of the chilled steel under her folded arms revisited the torturous hours strapped to that chair as she relayed every horrible detail to the stoic man in an equally stiff-looking suit. If this guy was going to be in the business of questioning traumatized people, he needed to work on his bedside manner.

  At least he’d filled her in on the particulars of Reamus, er—Canterbury’s escape. Though the fact that her attacker was being booked and questioned in this same building made her want to retch out whatever might remain in her stomach that hadn’t burned off from anxiety. Even being here—in a building loaded with law enforcement—she felt an eerie certainty that she’d never feel safe again.

  Some sort of commotion pulled the agent from Sadie’s interrogation, so alone she sat in the cold room, feeling on edge and ready to crumble. The seconds ticked by like hours as she fought back another aftershock of tears.

  When the agent finally returned he told her she was free to go but that Agent Hayes requested to see her in his office before she left.

  “Agent Hayes is here?” How could he be in the building and not have at least come to check on her? She knew that she’d thrown a curveball at the fund-raiser, but had it really changed that much?

  After her last attack he’d practically thrown himself from his moving car and held her in front of a half-dozen cops. This time, he requests to see her in his office?

  She didn’t know what to expect, but suddenly she felt a new kind of wall erect in her chest. She might be in rough shape, but she’d survived. Saved herself. Fought for her virtue and won. She was freaking brave, dang it! Even tougher than that twelve-year-old tomboy tromping through the woods on a rescue mission. One last moment of agony for today wouldn’t break her, would it? And so she walked the green mile to Archer’s office with the bruised face he’d be able to see and with what remained of the bruised heart she’d shove back into hiding.

  Chapter 34

  Archer Hayes

  “Here’s some ice. Man, that was awesome!” Sal’s misplaced hero worship made Archer grimace. “Okay fine, I’ll leave you to it. Just let me know if you need me to check on anything while you’re stuck in here.”

  Archer draped the bag of ice over his knuckles and nodded. “Thanks.”

  The door clicked shut, and he slumped back in his desk chair, shoved the ice away.

  When he’d gotten that text from Sadie his panic had been indescribable. Over an hour away from home, he felt something he vowed never to feel again—helpless. It was as if he was still holding Jimmy, watching life drain out of him all over again, knowing that he could have prevented it, and knowing it was too late. That same manic helplessness had taken over when he’d flipped on his sirens and gunned it back toward St. Louis.

  It had been the most terrifying hour of his life—and he’d been in a war.

  Yes, the police had intervened in time after his call. But when he thought again of what they said the man attempted to do—what Sadie had endured—rage took over, his blood pressure spiking so high he could have morphed into the hulk and literally killed someone with his bare hands.

  He might have too, if his boss hadn’t quarantined him to his office until Canterbury could be taken from the premises. That might seem dramatic, but it was only after Archer arrived at the office a few minutes ago, busted open the door to Canterbury’s interrogation room, and got in a solid three or four skull-cracking punches before the other agents pulled him back. Archer’s hand was about twice its normal size, so he was pretty sure he’d broken a bone or two. But as far as he was concerned, it was worth it.

  Then again, now that he was coming down from his blind fury, he kept feeling like he’d made the wrong choice. He should have gone to Sadie first, but all this was new to him and Archer wasn’t used to leading with his heart. Actually, he couldn’t remember a time when his heart had any say at all.

  He was emotionally compromised. It felt like a disease, invading every ounce of logic and turning him into an impulsive maniac. He could have blown the whole case by attacking Canterbury. He knew better.

  Primal instinct told him to avenge Sadie’s honor, but if he could redo the last ten minutes, he would have saved the payback for later and gone to comfort her instead. If it weren’t for the two agents at his door and the threat of unemployment from Jensen, that’s exactly where he’d be.

  There was no excuse. He’d let her down. And just like with Jimmy—and so many others whose blood still stained his hands—Archer should have been able to do something, should have been ready.

  The torment of the helpless moment waged a dark war in his soul. He’d given up everything to avoid this, and yet here he found himself again, still battling forces so much greater than he could control. Only now, he finally realized it was a war he could never win on his own.

  It all came rushing in, flooding over his head and saturating his very being with incredible clarity. Clinging to his pain and his anger, he hadn’t realized how much effort he’d put into fighting against the grain. But even though it went against his very nature as a soldier, every part of him begged for surrender.

  He sucked in a breath, felt a seed of calm bloom over the panic, felt a warm assurance ease his shame. It was time to stop hiding. Time to come home like the prodigal son, and trade in his broken past for the beautiful hope in the unknown, and whatever it held.

  He bowed his head right there at his desk and prayed. Peace so potent and pure wrapped around him like an embrace. He finally understood the look on Jimmy’s face when he’d been called home. All Archer’s pent up prayers began to pour forth with ease—a sweet elixir for his thirsty soul.

  It
wasn’t too late. He could lay his past to rest and move on. As long as he drew breath, he could fight for another chance. This time he wouldn’t give up until he got it right.

  A knock came moments before Sadie was granted entrance to his office. Archer was out of his seat and across the room so quickly he must have startled her since she leapt back and bumped against the door as it shut behind her.

  “Oh God, you’re here. You’re okay. You’re okay.” He realized he was gently but frantically patting her down while panting those words to himself, needing tangible—and apparently verbally repetitive—confirmation that she was still whole.

  She was a beautiful mess. A colorfully bruised and swollen cheek had an inch-long gash now covered with Steri-Strips. Another bloody lump swelled at her temple, and remnants of dried blood crusted in her hair. There were angry strangulation marks on her slender neck, and fiery red rope burns on her arms where she’d fought against her restraints.

  Archer pulled back, praying he hadn’t hurt her with his inspection, and pressed his palm against the riot in his chest. Fury burned hot and wild in his veins, but pride won out as he remembered all she’d done to thwart Canterbury’s attacks. She was the strongest woman he knew. Right now, though, she looked frail. Weariness hung like defeat on her slim shoulders.

  Realizing he stood staring at her instead of doing the only thing he wanted to do, he carefully encircled her in his arms. He breathed in the scent of her citrus hair, skimmed his hands up and down her back with soothing strokes. “I’ve never been so scared in my life.” He searched her eyes. “Baby, I’m so sorry I wasn’t there.”

  Sadie nodded and bit her lip, those sea glass eyes wide and glossy as she stood there trembling in his arms.