by Vanessa Vale
“Wait,” he said finally. “You’re kidding. Both of you are fucking her.” He laughed. “I pegged her for a frigid virgin that needed thawing. I certainly missed seeing her freak flag fly, didn’t I?”
I was ready to punch him in the face. I didn’t give a shit that we were in the diner. If I felt that way, I could only imagine how pissed Hardin was. I grabbed his shirt and tugged him away from the table before he did or said anything he might regret.
13
SAM
I didn’t have long to think about the fact that Dr. Knowles—the guy who’d been making my work life hell—and Hardin were brothers. Brothers! They looked nothing alike, acted nothing alike. Mark Knowles was slippery and sleazy. Hardin Knowles was quiet and generous. Protective. Wild in bed. Or on a couch, rather. One I hated, the other I was quickly falling for. They had to be close to ten years apart in age.
My mind randomly went to genetics, the fact that their parents couldn’t have green and blue eyes because it was impossible for them to have a brown-eyed child like Mark.
Stupid brain. Focus!
Earlier Hardin had mentioned a brother, that they were pretty close. Obviously he hadn’t put together that maybe Mark and I might know each other, even work together.
I stood at the sink outside the OR and scrubbed my fingernails with cleanser as prep for surgery. Did Hardin believe me? Did he think I was making stuff up about his brother? HR didn’t believe me, so maybe I was wrong about how I reacted to Dr. Knowles. Did Hardin hate me now? I’d said some pretty not nice things about his family.
Or did Hardin know about his brother and not care? Did he condone that kind of behavior? I didn’t think so, but what did I know? I’d slept with two men a day after meeting them. I hadn’t really known them long enough to find out if they were jerks. But I was supposed to go with my gut, not think so damned much, and my gut was telling me they were good guys. But there were over three hundred different kinds of bacteria in the gut so…
Damn my brain. Stop! I shook my head, scrubbed a little harder.
Through the glass separating the prep room from the OR, the anesthesiologist nodded, letting me know the patient was under and ready.
As I pushed the door open with my back and went into surgery, I shoved the thoughts of men and gut bacteria out of my head. The last thing I realized about the whole mess before focusing on the patient was that I’d had sex with a guy and I’d never known his last name. I wasn’t sure if I was an idiot or a total slut.
Three hours later the patient was in recovery and doing fine. I was bundled into my layers of outerwear and walking to my car. Exhausted, I was ready for my bed. I wasn’t keen on returning to my apartment, not after someone had broken in, but I hadn’t heard from Mac or Hardin. They knew nothing about how long it took to perform a splenectomy, or at least I didn’t think so, and I wasn’t surprised.
I wanted to call them and ask if I could stay with one of them, but what would Hardin say? How did he feel about the huge bomb that I’d dropped on him? Again, did he hate me? Did he even believe me?
Fortunately I hadn’t seen Dr. Knowles and had been able to avoid that confrontation. But unlike Hardin, I wasn’t sleeping with Dr. Knowles. Thank God. What were the rules of dating? Shit, Hardin and I weren’t dating.
Sex wasn’t dating. It was a hookup. Not a one-night stand. A fling? I’d read the hefty set of historical books, The Sagas of Icelanders, and yet I couldn’t grasp man/woman concepts. Or man/woman/man. Hardin had said he wanted to pull out the sex toys from my drawer and use them with me, but that had been before he knew my problems were with his brother. Had he changed his mind? He’d been put in the middle of my HR mess without even knowing. And Mac… he was best friends with Hardin. Did he side with him?
I groaned aloud, frustrated. Did all women try to understand men, or was it me? How could I be so smart and so dumb when it came to the opposite sex? Why were they so confusing? Why did I not know what to do?
As I tugged open my car door, the sound of boots crunching on the snow had me turn. For a second I thought it might be Hardin and Mac, but I didn’t get a chance to see who it was. All I saw was an arm coming toward my head before all went black.
HARDIN
“Is Sam Smyth with you?” Nix asked.
We were at the shop, but we hadn’t gotten shit done since we’d left Mark at the diner. There was no fucking way I could change the oil on an old Chevy when I just found out how much of a two-faced dick my brother was.
“No. She’s in surgery,” I said, leaning the mop handle against the wall. The concrete floor had needed to be scrubbed for months now, and it felt good to do something mindless. The scent of orange cleanser covered the usual oil-and-grease scent that clung to the place.
“I think we have a problem,” he said.
I stilled.
“What the fuck do you mean?” I barked into the phone.
Mac came out of the office, eyes wide.
“Hospital security called. Seems Sam’s car is in the lot, door open. Keys on the ground.”
“Holy. Fucking. Shit.”
Mac strode over. “What?”
“Sam’s missing.”
Mac snatched the phone from my hand, pressed the button for the speaker.
“This is Mac. What’s going on?”
“Someone took Sam. Car’s in the hospital lot. Door open, no Sam,” he repeated. “Security looked at footage from the exterior cameras. They’ve got her exiting at three thirteen and walking to her car. No one was with her. No one followed. Her car was at the back edge of the camera’s view, and someone comes in within a few seconds, leaves with her.”
“Voluntarily?” I snapped.
“It’s hard to tell. It’s blurry because of the distance. No way to identify the person, or even male or female with the heavy winter clothing. Dark colors. Did she call you? Say she was going off with someone?”
“No,” Mac and I said at the same time.
“You said she looks like Erin Mills. Do you think…” I wiped my hand across my lips, not wanting to finish the rest.
A murderer was still loose in Cutthroat, and Sam looked like the victim.
“I have to ask,” Nix began. In the background I could hear phones ringing, people talking, and I guessed he was at the police station. “Your brother. I assume you talked to him.”
“We did.”
“And?” He waited.
He wanted to know if I thought he might be the one to have taken Sam. Who might have grabbed her because he was somehow a crazy stalker who’d slashed her tire, fucked with her apartment and then kidnapped her. Who may have a thing for killing young blondes, just like her.
“Three thirteen, you said. We were with him at Dolly’s Diner at that time,” I told him. “Lots of witnesses.”
“You’re sure?”
“That we saw him at the diner? He was with Sarah, a waitress, when we showed up.”
“A blonde,” Mac added, eyeing me.
I nodded, seeing the fucking pattern.
“A different waitress came over to take our order. He was seen there.”
“So it’s not him,” Nix said.
“It’s him,” I told him. He might be a fucking detective and the facts didn’t add up, especially since Mac and I were his fucking alibi. “I don’t know how, but it is.”
“You can’t be sure of that,” Nix countered.
“No, but I’ve just found out my brother’s a total asshole. A man whore is one thing, but the shit he pulled with Sam? He denied. He lied.”
Mac looked grim. “Yeah, he did.”
We hadn’t talked about it, but I was glad to know he’d also seen through my brother’s shit when we were at the diner.
“Fine, so he has her, but how did he do it since he was with the two of you?”
I glanced at my fingernails, the black stains from shop work beneath that wouldn’t go away no matter how much I tried. “Unlike me, Nix, my brother doesn’t like to get his hands dir
ty.”
“Meaning he had help,” he replied, filling in the blanks.
“So then where the fuck is she?” Mac asked, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck.
Our girl was out there and in trouble. I’d never have thought my brother could do something like this, which meant she was in more danger than I might have ever imagined.
14
SAM
“Help!” I shouted, writhing and trying to get free.
The rope about my wrists was snug and wrapped securely around the brass headboard. One foot was similarly secured so I couldn’t do anything except rub my skin raw. My head ached where I’d been hit. When I’d first woken up, I’d done a self-assessment. My vision was clear, and I wasn’t nauseated. On the pillow I’d wiped the spot where I’d been hit and looked—no blood. I was sure I had a goose egg, and some ibuprofen would really help with the throbbing. Otherwise I was unharmed. My coat, mittens and hat were missing, but I was fully dressed.
I was in someone’s bedroom, a man’s, based on the beige and navy decor. It was simply decorated, but the finishes were nice. The bed I was on was soft, the comforter plush. The walls were painted, the trim stained wood. A large window with a bench seat offered a view of mountains. It would be a great reading spot, especially with the fireplace beside it, although it wasn’t lit now. From my vantage point, I couldn’t see if there were any houses nearby. There were three doors off the room; one I assumed was to an en suite bathroom, another to a closet and the last to a hallway. I could only scent lemon polish, as if the place had been cleaned recently. No smells of food or even coffee. And it was quiet. Too quiet.
I screamed again. This time someone came into the room.
“Oh my God,” I whispered.
“This could have gone much differently,” Dr. Knowles said. Mark. Hardin’s brother. He released the buttons on the cuffs of his dress shirt and rolled the sleeves up.
“This is crazy. You need to let me go. I promise I won’t tell anyone.” I tugged at my restraints. Now I knew why there was no give; surgeons were very skilled at knots.
He gave me a smile, but it wasn’t a warm one. “Oh, like you didn’t tell HR?”
I bit my lip.
“Don’t worry, your reports to HR are safe with Marion. She can keep your secret.”
I thought of the HR lady. How my claims of sexual harassment had gone on deaf ears. Mark stepped closer and I tried to shift away, but I couldn’t go anywhere.
“She’s blonde,” I said, trying to remain calm. I was used to panic-filled situations, but when I had to deal with them, I was in control. I was far from that now.
“She is. And so are you.”
It was obvious now he’d slept with the HR lady, had her under his spell somehow. She’d been ignoring all my complaints about Mark because he’d told her to. Was she in love with him, or did he force her?
His gaze raked over me from head to toe. It wasn’t anything like the way Hardin and Mac did it, and I felt dirty. I was completely covered, but I felt naked. Exposed.
“So was Erin Mills,” I said, licking my dry lips. My heart was beating out of my chest and I tried to take calming breaths but I was too scared. He didn’t have a weapon in his hand, no gun or knife, but I remembered from the news that Erin had been killed by blunt force trauma. I’d been hit on the head, but clearly Mark had wanted me alive.
To what? Kill me?
He worked on the rope tying my ankle to the footboard.
“You shouldn’t have denied me, Samantha. Women don’t say no to me.”
“I did. I’m still saying no.”
“And look where it’s gotten you.” He lifted his gaze from the rope, pierced me with his dark gaze. There, I saw anger. Clarity. An eerie calmness. Insanity. “We’re going to have some fun. Or, at least, I am.”
“They’re going to find me,” I said quickly, trying to turn away from him, but my ankle hadn’t been released yet. I made the words sound like I believed them, but I couldn’t be sure if Mac and Hardin even liked me. Hardin hadn’t known Mark was the guy I’d complained about. He’d fooled Hardin… and Mac. He’d fooled me to think he was just a handsy coworker. Who did they believe? Did they think I was a liar trying to make trouble at work? To get their brother fired? After we’d had sex, I’d tossed their interest back in their faces.
Was I too much work for them? I ached to apologize, but there was nothing to say sorry for. I was tied to a bed with Mark Knowles ready to rape me and possibly kill me.
I hadn’t been wrong. I just had to hope Mac and Hardin would see that. And find me. Please.
“I was wrong about you, Sam. Fucking two men isn’t what I expected from you. I thought you were a virgin. I could have sworn it.”
He studied me as I remained silent. I wasn’t telling him anything about what I’d done with Hardin and Mac. I wasn’t telling him he’d been right, that I’d been untouched, that if I’d told him yes months ago like he’d wanted, he’d have found me innocent. I didn’t think telling Mark that Hardin had gotten what he had wanted would make him happy.
He shrugged.
“Virgin, whore, it doesn’t make a difference to me. I just get to have a different kind of fun now.”
MAC
Nix didn’t have to break into Mark’s house since Hardin had a key. Once the door was unlocked, three police officers along with Nix and Miranski stormed in. Hardin and I followed, but within seconds they’d called the house clear. No one was here.
Sam wasn’t here. There was no sign of her at all.
Hardin slammed the door to the garage shut. “His car’s gone.”
Everyone met in the living room. The house was outside of town, set on two acres with views of the mountains all around. It was ridiculously big for a single guy, but Mark liked things. A big house, fancy car, fancy lifestyle. I hadn’t given a shit if he took his clothes to the dry cleaners or not. He was a nice guy.
Had been. That had been a fucking lie.
Jesus, Mark could have killed Erin Mills. Talk about leading a dual life. While we’d eaten pizza, drunk beers and watched football with him, he might have been holding on to the secret that he’d killed a woman.
Erin Mills, though, was dead. No one could help her. Sam was alive, and we had to find her now before Hardin’s sick-as-fuck brother hurt her, too.
“Did you call him?” Miranski asked Hardin.
Hardin looked around wildly, as if Sam might be tucked in a kitchen cupboard or behind the sofa.
“Twice. No answer.”
“That’s possible though, right? It’s not like Mark can take calls if he’s in the operating room,” she stated.
“Did you call the hospital?” I asked. “Is he in surgery now?”
“They said he left at two. Hasn’t come back or been called in,” Nix said.
The timing made sense with his visit to the diner.
“Maybe it’s not Mark who’s behind this and we’re wasting our time,” Miranski said.
“It’s him,” Hardin stated. He had no doubt and neither did I. “He wants Sam. She told him no, and he doesn’t like that. I had breakfast with him this morning. He told me of a woman he fu— Sorry, he had sex with last night. Blonde.” He said the last to reiterate our theory of Mark’s obsession with blondes and the possible connection to Erin Mills. “Then there was the waitress this afternoon. She was a sure thing. She wasn’t going to tell him no.”
“Blonde, too,” I added. “And yeah, if we hadn’t shown up, they’d be together now.”
The other officers left the house to wait outside. There was no crime here, and we had no real proof Mark was involved. Just gut feelings. We’d told Sam to go with her gut, and we knew ours were right now.
Fuck, I hoped so.
“He’s too smart to bring her here,” Hardin said, rubbing his beard. “We’ve wasted our time.”
“An officer went to Sam’s place. Empty,” Miranski said.
“There are hotels, vacation rentals,” Nix added
.
“Have your parents talked to him?” I asked Hardin.
He shook his head. “They’re in—”
His eyes met mine. Held. “I know where they are.”
Oh shit. The perfect place. “Yeah.”
“Let’s go.”
We ran for the door, Nix and Miranski hot on our heels.
15
SAM
“Did you kill Erin Mills?” I asked, trying to turn away from him.
With a hand on my hip, he tugged me back flat on the bed, then frowned down at me. “What are you talking about?”
For the first time since I’d met him, he appeared at a loss. Completely confused.
“She was blonde,” I stated.
He considered and I realized he wasn’t thinking about getting my pants off me. He was going to rape me, I had no doubt, but I’d hold him off as long as possible.
“She was. Everywhere.”
I frowned. Then I understood.
“I fucked her. As you said, she’s my type and was wild in the sack, but I had no reason to kill her. She was only good to me alive. I’m not into necrophilia.”
I frowned. Freaked. He’d been with Erin, clearly had sex with her more than once.
“And Marion in HR,” I added.
“And Marion, and other blondes. More than I can count.”
“Then why are you doing this with me? I mean, they were willing.”
He smiled then.
“Right?” I asked, my voice squeaking.
“You want to talk about other women while I fuck you?”
“No, I—”
His hands went for the drawstring on my scrubs again, and I rolled away as best I could, pulled my knees back toward my chest.
“No,” I said. With my arms over my head, I had no leverage, but I wasn’t letting him do this. I was having an acute stress response—or fight-or-flight—and flight wasn’t happening.
He fought me, got ahold of my pants and tugged. The pants loosened, but I swung wildly with one leg and kicked him.