Beverly Barton 3 Book Bundle

by Beverly Barton

  Oh, God, maybe she was crazy. Maybe sometime between the morning she’d been captured and the day she’d escaped, she had lost her mind.

  One minute she wanted to beg Griff to hold her and never let her go. The next minute she didn’t want anyone to touch her. There seemed to be no rhyme or reason to her thinking, no logical reasoning behind her mood swings.

  Yes, she knew all her problems—at least most of them—were linked to her imprisonment, to those endless days of degradation and torment. Even though she hadn’t mentioned her feelings to Dr. Meng, the very wise lady had explained that whatever she was feeling, whatever wild mood swings and unusual emotional reactions she was experiencing were to be expected.

  “Not only are they to be expected, but they’re perfectly natural,” Yvette had said. “You are not losing your mind, even if sometimes it seems that you are.”

  Okay, so I’m not losing my mind, Nic told herself. Even if I think I am.

  So, here she sat on the Powell jet, along with Griff, Dr. Meng, Sanders, and Rick Carson, flying into the wild blue yonder, all the way from Baton Rouge to Knoxville. Charles David had offered to come with them, but she had insisted that he go home to San Francisco, back to his normal life.

  “I’ll call you at least every other day,” she’d promised. “I’m going to be just fine. Griff will see that I have everything I need.”

  Neither she nor her brother mentioned the fact that although their mother had telephoned Nic several times while she’d been in the hospital, she hadn’t come to Baton Rouge to see Nic. Her husband had felt the stress wouldn’t be good for her.

  Griff sat beside Nic on the plane, but he didn’t crowd her and he hadn’t tried to make idle conversation. Occasionally, he would take her hand in his or simply look at her and smile. Twice, he had asked if she needed anything.

  Poor Griff. He was trying so hard to be her knight in shining armor. She didn’t doubt that he genuinely cared about her, but she sensed that more than anything else, he felt sorry for her. God, how she hated that.

  wGriff felt helpless. More than anything he wanted to do something for Nic to make things easier for her. If only he had the power to erase these past five weeks from her memory. If only they could go back to that morning in Woodbridge and do it all over again. He would awaken in time to stop her from taking her morning walk. He would drag her back into bed and make love to her all day. And somehow he’d figure out that the Hunter intended to kidnap Nic. Then he could protect her.

  But he could no more erase her memories of captivity than he could erase his own. He only prayed that Yvette could help Nic the way she had helped him.

  Yvette had gone through years of therapy herself, trusting their lives and their secrets to her beloved psychology professor, Dr. Gilbert. She had persuaded Sanders and Griff to seek the old man’s wise counsel, but the professor had passed away before they could, and so both Griff and Sanders had turned to Yvette for therapy.

  Looking back now, Griff realized that reliving their captivity on Amara and sharing their memories with one another had worked both for their recovery and against it. But in the end, they had each come through their individual trials of fire stronger and wiser. Each of them now dealt with the past in his or her own way. But Griff did not delude himself into thinking that they were completely healed, that the past no longer had any hold over them. Each of them bore the scars of their imprisonment, just as Nic would always bear the scars of hers.

  When Jonathan brought the Powell jet in for a landing, Nic reached out and grasped Griff’s arm. He laid his hand over hers and squeezed reassuringly.

  “I’m only staying at Griffin’s Rest for a few weeks,” Nic said, but looked down at the floor and not at him. “I’ll go through therapy with Dr. Meng, and then I’ll go through whatever tests the bureau wants to run on me. After that, I’m going back to work. I intend to track down the Hunter and bring him in.”

  Griff wondered if Doug Trotter would allow Nic back on the task force or if he would reassign her when she was healthy enough for active duty again. But now was not the time to disagree with her about her future plans.

  “You can stay for as long as you like,” Griff said. “But you know you’re free to leave whenever you want.” He squeezed her hand again. “Selfishly, I’d like for you to stay for a while, at least through Christmas and New Year’s.”

  She stared at him then, a questioning look in her honey-brown eyes. “I hadn’t even thought about Christmas. It’s only a few weeks away, isn’t it? And then New Year’s and—” She closed her eyes and bit down on her bottom lip. After taking a deep breath, she looked back at Griff and said softly, “You don’t have to feel sorry for me, you know. I’m going to be all right.”

  “Oh, Nic, honey, is that what you think—that I feel sorry for you?” He turned in his seat, reached out, and with his free hand caressed her cheek. “Nothing could be farther from the truth. I’m angry. I want to kill Everhart. I want to make everything all right for you. I want to take away your pain.” He cupped her chin between his thumb and index finger. “I want to keep you safe and never let anything bad happen to you ever again.”

  She closed her eyes. At first he thought she might be crying, but she wasn’t. Perhaps only inside.

  With her eyes closed and her hand in his, she said, “I’m going to lean on you for a little while. I’ll live at Griffin’s Rest and go into counseling with Dr. Meng. But I’m going to get well quickly. And I’m going back to work by the first of the year. I refuse to allow Rosswalt Everhart to destroy my sanity and take away everything that’s important to me.”

  That’s my Nic. Tough as nails. Strong. Independent. Determined.

  But she had no idea what lay ahead for her. Her dark nights of the soul were yet to come.

  Chapter 24

  Sanders woke Griff at five thirty on Saturday morning. He came to with a start, his heart racing, his first thoughts of Nic.

  “What’s wrong? Is Nic—?”

  “Nicole is fine. As far as I know she is sleeping,” Sanders said. “I apologize for waking you, but Douglas Trotter is on the phone. He says that it is urgent.”

  Griff tossed back the covers and stood, totally naked. Sanders held up Griff’s robe. He slipped into the calf-length silk garment and belted it quickly.

  “Line one,” Sanders said.

  Griff walked over to the desk, picked up the receiver, and tapped line one. “Griffin Powell here.”

  “I got a phone call less than half an hour ago from some guy claiming to be the Hunter,” Trotter said.

  “He called you?”

  “How the hell he got my cell number …Doesn’t matter, does it? He called me because, apparently, he had tried to call Nicole and her phone went to voice mail. He’s using me as a messenger boy.”

  “Meaning?”

  “He instructed me to contact Nicole and tell her to keep her phone on and with her at all times.”

  “Goddamn!” Griff motioned to Sanders. “Wake up Yvette. I need to talk to her.” Sanders nodded, then exited hurriedly. Griff said to Trotter, “This could mean that he’s already set up shop somewhere else and he’s preparing to abduct another victim.”

  “Yeah, unfortunately, I agree.”

  “I’d give every dime I have to know where that slimy bastard is.”

  “Make that two of us,” Trotter said. “But for now, I need to know if Nic is stable enough to deal with a phone call from this guy.”

  Hell, no. Nic had left the hospital only yesterday and was as fragile as spun glass. One tap on that thin shell she’d erected around her emotions and she’d shatter into a million pieces.

  “Powell, are you still there?” Trotter’s gruff voice vibrated with concern.

  “I’m here. Just thinking. Nic’s not ready to deal with a call from Everhart. But if we don’t let her know what’s going on and she finds out, it will only make things worse for her.”

  “And she’ll be mad as hell at us.”

  “Ye
ah, there is that.”

  “You seem to be closer to her than anyone right now. As much as I hate to let you make the decision, I’m leaving it up to you.”

  “I can either steal her cell phone so she never sees his message, or I can tell her what he’s up to and advise her to let me handle things, or—”

  “There’s a third option and we both know it’s the one Nic will choose,” Trotter said. “Emotionally ready or not, she’ll take that son of a bitch’s calls. She wanted to nail his hide to the wall before … But now—damn it, Powell, do whatever you can to help her, you and that shrink of yours.”

  “I’ll be in touch later this morning.” Griff ended the conversation, placed the receiver on the base, and headed for the bathroom.

  He had just started shaving when Yvette called out his name through the closed bedroom door.

  “Come on in,” he told her.

  She moved through his bedroom like a floating cloud, as quietly as if her feet never touched the floor. Pausing in the open bathroom door, she looked him over and settled her gaze on his shaving cream–covered face.

  He picked up his razor, took a couple of swipes, then rinsed the razor and glanced at Yvette. “Everhart contacted Doug Trotter. He left a message on Nic’s cell phone and he wants her to turn her phone on and keep it on. My guess is that he’s on the verge of kidnapping another woman and he’s ready for Nic and me to play his game with him.”

  “So soon,” Yvette said. “This man is quite driven. Apparently, the single focus of his life is playing this deadly murder game. He is allowing nothing to stop him, not even Nicole’s escape, the revelation of his true identity, or the fact he is still recovering from surgery.”

  Griff continued shaving, and made comments each time he rinsed the razor. “Nic’s not ready to deal with this, is she?”

  “No, and I’m not sure she ever will be.”

  “She’s not going to give me her cell phone willingly. That phone was one of the first things she asked for while she was in the hospital. I had a hell of a time persuading her to turn the damn thing off and keep it off. If I know her, she’ll be turning it on sometime today.”

  “And when she does, she will see that she has received a message.”

  “I could steal her phone.” Griff turned on the faucets, leaned over the sink, and splashed water over his cleanly shaven face.

  “As much as you want to protect Nicole, I advise you not to try to manipulate her or control her. At this point, she trusts you, perhaps more than anyone else in her life. You do not want to do anything to jeopardize that trust.”

  “So you’re saying I should let her talk to the maniac who kidnapped and tortured her?”

  “I am saying that the decision must be hers.”

  “Yeah, yeah. I know.” Griff lifted a towel from the nearby rack and dried his face. “Why couldn’t she be the type who’d happily let a big, strong man handle everything for her?”

  “If she were that type, she would bore you. Nicole is exactly the kind of woman you need.”

  Griff tossed the towel aside. “I want to protect her.”

  Yvette’s gaze met his, a look of understanding passing between them. When he emerged from the bathroom, she stepped aside.

  “And you will protect her, as much as she will allow you to.”

  He nodded. “Be prepared for whatever happens. I’m not sure how she’ll react. Probably play tough and in control, at least at first.”

  “The timing is unfortunate,” Yvette said. “She might have been better prepared to handle this in a few weeks. But Rosswalt Everhart is forcing her—forcing us—to adhere to his timetable.”

  “And play the game by his rules.”

  The roar of the dirt bike pulsated all around her, as if he were coming after her from all directions. Was he riding around in a circle, surrounding her? If he was, then she was trapped, with nowhere to run. Nic’s heart thumped loudly inside her head. Sweat coated her hands, dampened her face, and dripped down between her breasts. Nausea clawed at her belly. She was beyond hungry. She had gone without food for days now.

  Suddenly, he appeared from out of nowhere, a heavy rope in his hand. “No, don’t!” she pleaded, but he didn’t listen. She turned and faced the tree, standing there obediently while he lashed her back repeatedly, the sting of the rope ripping through her clothes and into her flesh. If she did not take her punishment, he would shoot her.

  Stay alive. Do whatever you have to do.

  Run. Run away from him. Save your life.

  He fired the rifle. The bullet hit her in the back. Hot, piercing pain.

  The Hunter’s laughter echoed all around her. Inside her head, vibrating through her body.

  She screamed.

  Nic’s eyes popped open. She looked straight up at the ceiling. Where was she?

  Sitting up, she surveyed her surroundings. She was in a big, comfortable bed, with a down comforter and feather pillows. The colors were soft and feminine, creams and beiges and pale peaches. She wasn’t at home, not in her bedroom, not in her bed.

  She was at Griffin’s Rest.

  She was safe.

  Nic tossed back the covers and crawled out of bed. The moment her feet hit the floor, she immediately wanted to get back in bed, pull up the covers, and stay there all day. If only she could sleep for the next month and wake up on New Year’s Day completely sound in mind and body. Ready to go home. Prepared to return to work.

  Stop feeling sorry for yourself. Take a shower, get dressed, call Charles David, go downstairs, and put on your happy face and pretend you’re sane.

  First, she needed to find clean underwear. She looked around the room and decided that her bras and panties were probably in one of the drawers in the huge Victorian dresser. Griff had told her that he’d sent a Powell employee to Woodbridge to pack her clothes and bring them to Griffin’s Rest. Last night, when Griff had brought her upstairs to this room, her pajamas and house shoes had already been laid out for her.

  After a little searching and pillaging, she discovered that not only were her bras, panties, knee highs, stockings, and socks in the dresser, but there were new items that she didn’t recognize. Expensive underwear that just happened to be her size. Griff’s doing, no doubt. And when she opened the walk-in closet, she gasped. She had never owned this many clothes in her entire life. My God, what had Griff done, ordered her a complete new wardrobe of winter clothes?

  After searching through countless brand-new slacks and sweaters and skirts and jackets and two coats, she finally found her own clothes, the ones she’d worn last winter and the winter before that. She chose a pair of comfortable jeans and her favorite multicolor fleece sweater. While searching for her old penny loafers, she discovered ten pairs of new shoes and four pairs of boots.

  Griffin Powell, what have you done?

  She’d have a talk with him this morning and tell him that she didn’t want his gifts, that she was not some kept woman who—

  Nic stopped abruptly.

  Griff did all this out of kindness and caring. Remember that fact when you thank him for his generosity. All you have to do is simply wear your own clothes every day and he’ll take the hint.

  She rummaged around in the closet until she found her old loafers. She hugged them to her chest.

  Familiarity. Something that was her own. Security.

  Where had she put her purse last night? Hmm … On the bottom shelf of the bedside table.

  After gathering all her clothing items and laying them out on the foot of the bed, she retrieved her purse, flipped it open, and searched for her cell phone. While she’d been in Baton Rouge General, she’d told Griff she wanted her phone. He’d had someone in the D.C. field office overnight the phone to the hospital, but before he’d given it to her, he had wrangled a deal from her. She had reluctantly agreed not to use the phone except to talk to her mother, her brother and her cousin Claire, and to keep it turned off the rest of the time.

  Plopping down on the side edge
of the bed, she turned on the phone. It was much too early to call her brother. What with the three-hour time difference between Knoxville and San Francisco, it was practically the middle of the night in California.

  Just as she started to lay the phone on the nightstand, she noticed that she had a message. She didn’t recognize the number.

  Her heart leapt to her throat.

  No, it couldn’t be.

  Her hand shook so badly that she almost dropped the phone.

  Get hold of yourself. If the Hunter left you a message, then it may well mean he is preparing to kidnap another woman.

  Or he could have called simply to torment me.

  Taking a deep breath and garnering all her courage, Nic listened to the message:

  “Hello, Nicole. Do you miss me as much as I miss you? If you don’t leave your phone on, you can’t play the game. You don’t want to miss your first clue, do you?”

  God, how she hated the sound of his voice.

  Clutching the cell phone in her hand, she slid off the bed, rushing out of the bedroom and down the hall toward Griff’s suite. She knocked once, then opened the door and barged into his room.

  She stopped dead in her tracks, practically skidding to a halt when she saw Griff standing in the doorway of the adjoining bathroom, wearing nothing but a loosely belted silk robe. Yvette Meng, in a flowing pale yellow negligee gown and robe, stood beside him, her hand on his arm.

  “Excuse me,” Nic said when Griff and Yvette turned and looked at her. If only she could disappear. Poof. Be gone.

  She started backing up. Griff came toward her. “Wait, Nic.”

  “No, I’m sorry I intruded. This can wait until later.” She kept backing slowly toward the door.

  Griff caught up with her just as she managed to back all the way into the hall. He grasped her shoulders gently. “Nic, honey, you didn’t intrude. Whatever is going through that suspicious mind of yours—”

  “Your relationship with Dr. Meng is none of my business. I just wish you’d told me that you two are still involved. And I wish she hadn’t lied to me.” She wiggled her shoulders, trying to loosen his hold, but he held fast.