Kill Without Mercy

by Alexandra Ivy

  She told herself it was because she couldn’t bear to think of any child being harmed.

  Especially not by his own mother.

  But the icy chill inching down her spine made her fear that it was something else.

  Something terrible that her mind wasn’t prepared to accept.

  Feeling the male gazes locked on her, Annie paced the narrow floor, her fingers anxiously plucking at the belt of her robe.

  Eventually she could give in to the nervous breakdown that hovered like a black cloud on the horizon.

  It wouldn’t, however, be today.

  “But my father,” she breathed, refusing to accept he could be involved. It was ridiculous. For years she’d forced herself to believe he was a serial killer. But she couldn’t wrap her brain around the idea of him hurting one of his children. “How could he allow someone to hurt his own son?”

  “He was a sailor,” Rafe reminded her. “He no doubt spent most of his life aboard a ship. It’s likely he didn’t know what was going on.”

  He had a point, but Annie wasn’t satisfied.

  “Then why didn’t someone else stop her?” She waved a hand toward the papers spread across the table, her voice thick with the emotions she was determined to keep leashed. “Obviously people knew something terrible was happening.”

  “She had money. She came from a powerful family,” Teagan said, his voice soft as if sensing she was on the edge. “A lot of sins can be swept under the carpet.”

  “It was also a number of years ago,” Rafe added, his expression impossible to read. “People didn’t want to admit a mother could hurt her own child.”

  Annie continued to pace. It was true. Even today, people didn’t want to think a woman could give birth to children and then become a monster.

  Mother’s a monster . . .

  A sudden, smothering darkness threatened to drown her as the words whispered through her mind.

  No. She gave a sharp shake of her head.

  It was a figment of her imagination.

  She’d been three years old when her mother had . . . died. There was no way she could have any actual memory of her. Or her brother.

  Could she?

  Coming to a halt in the center of the linoleum floor, she suddenly realized she hadn’t asked the most obvious question.

  God. She really was losing it.

  “Is he still alive?”

  Rafe frowned. “Who?”

  “My brother.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Rafe clenched his hands. He sensed that Annie’s brittle composure was about to crack, but there wasn’t a damned thing he could do to make this any easier for her.

  And that frankly pissed him off.

  He was a man of action.

  A problem needed to be solved, he solved it.

  But this . . .

  It was a fucking mess.

  And in part, it was his fault.

  He was the one who’d insisted Max run the background check on Don White. And allowed Annie to be here when Teagan shared the intel.

  But how the hell could he have known that instead of answering questions, it would only open an entirely new set of problems?

  Teagan exchanged glances with him, clearly waiting for the sign to continue. Rafe gave a small nod. What else could he do?

  Annie already knew that her mother had been brutally killed and that her brother was responsible after he supposedly snapped due to years of abuse.

  She was also aware that no one had seemingly done a damn thing to help the poor boy.

  She deserved to know if he was still alive.

  Teagan turned his gaze to Annie. “Yep. After the trial he was sent to a private institute. The Greenwood Estates. Just outside Madison, Wisconsin.”

  “He’s still there?” she prodded.

  There was a momentary hesitation before Teagan nodded. “As far as I know.”

  Rafe understood his hedging.

  Annie was too blinded by the stunning realization that her brother was alive to consider the unpleasant possibilities.

  Teagan, however, was well aware it had to be more than just a coincidence that Martin Emerson had sliced his mother’s throat with a knife.

  “What’s his diagnosis?” Rafe asked.

  Teagan drained the last of the coffee and reached for a doughnut.

  “Hacking into medical files is going to take some time,” he told Rafe, taking another bite. “It would be faster to drive there and ask in person.”

  Rafe frowned, considering the various obstacles.

  The drive would only take four hours or so, but he knew enough about hospitals to realize they couldn’t just waltz in and start asking questions.

  He stilled, his glance shifting to Annie, who’d returned to her nervous pacing.

  “I suppose Annie is his next of kin,” he reluctantly muttered. “She would have access to Martin and his doctors.”

  He hated the mere thought of taking her along, but her presence would allow them to cut through the red tape.

  “Yep.” Teagan reached into the pocket of his jeans, pulling out a small leather wallet. With a flick of his wrist he tossed it toward Rafe. “And just in case.”

  Snatching the wallet out of the air, Rafe flipped it open, not surprised to find his picture had been laminated onto a professional I.D.

  He cocked a brow. “FBI?”

  Teagan shrugged. “Do you want answers or not?”

  Rafe felt a sudden warmth press against his back as Annie leaned over his shoulder to glance at the I.D.

  “Isn’t that illegal?”

  He turned his head to study her delicate profile, relishing the sensation of her hair brushing the back of his neck.

  He’d never thought of himself as a tactile person.

  Not until Annie White . . . or hell, Annie Emerson.

  Now he couldn’t seem to get enough of her touch.

  “Only if we get caught,” he assured her.

  She bit her lip, and Rafe hid an unexpected smile. It didn’t take someone with a lot of insight to suspect that Annie was a woman who’d grown up religiously following every rule.

  Not only had she been an orphan who was dependent on the goodwill of her foster parents, but she would have done everything in her power to prove to the world that she hadn’t inherited “evil” genes from her father.

  He was going to take an indecent amount of pleasure in corrupting that Goody Two-shoes attitude.

  Until then, he enjoyed her silent battle to convince herself that his impersonation of an FBI agent was a price she was willing to pay to find her brother.

  At last she squared her shoulders and headed toward the living room. “I’ll take a shower and we can go,” she said.

  “Annie—”

  Her steps never slowed. “Don’t even start,” she warned as she disappeared into the tiny bathroom.

  Teagan barely waited for the door to close before he leaned his elbows on the table, his expression grim.

  “Martin sliced his mother’s throat.”

  Rafe waited until he heard the shower running before he answered.

  “Yeah, I got that.”

  “It can’t be a coincidence.”

  Rafe met his friend’s gaze. “What’re your thoughts?”

  “My first thought is that he escaped his leash and came to Newton to finish his father’s work,” Teagan said. “It would explain why he was obsessed with Annie, and his childish gifts.”

  It did.

  In fact, it would explain a lot of things, perhaps even her strange visions.

  But Rafe wasn’t entirely convinced.

  “Maybe,” he muttered.

  Teagan studied him with a too-perceptive gaze. “What’s bothering you?”

  He didn’t try to deny he was worried. Teagan knew him too well.

  “Right now all Annie is thinking about is the fact that the brother she thought died in a car crash is alive,” he said. “What happens if he’s somehow connected to the Newton S
layer?”

  Teagan shrugged. “She’s had to live with the thought her father was responsible. Could this be any worse?”

  Rafe rubbed the back of his neck, his muscles tight with dread.

  “It could be a hell of a lot worse,” he growled. “She was a child when her father was arrested, which meant that she had at least some protection from the media circus. If it turns out that her brother is involved this time . . . Jesus.” He gave a shake of his head, unable to even imagine the shit storm that would follow. “Nothing’s going to protect her this time.”

  Teagan grimaced. “Damn, I didn’t consider that angle.”

  Rafe glanced down at the stacks of papers that were about to change Annie’s life forever.

  “Even if he’s not involved, this will be a nightmare for Annie if word leaks out that the son of the Newton Slayer is in a mental institute after slicing the throat of his mother.”

  Teagan heaved a deep sigh, leaning to the side so he could pull a folded piece of paper out of his back pocket. “There’s something else you should see,” he said, shoving it across the table.

  Rafe slowly unfolded the paper. He knew it was something his friend had wanted to keep from Annie. That was the only reason to keep it separated from the other intel.

  Still, he felt a flare of surprise as his gaze skimmed the copy of the official document.

  “A birth certificate?” he murmured in confusion.

  “Look at the name,” Teagan commanded.

  “Annabelle Emerson.” His jaw clenched. It was Annie’s birth certificate. It had to be. But it wasn’t the fact that Teagan had managed to get his hands on the document that was making his blood run cold. It was the spelling of her first name. Annabelle. The same as on the note that had been shoved under her motel door and written in the book left on the porch swing. A name no one in this area could possibly know. Not unless they knew the past her father had been so careful to conceal. “Shit.”

  Teagan glanced toward the bathroom door that remained firmly shut. “That isn’t the only thing.”

  Rafe swallowed a sigh. Of course it wasn’t.

  “Tell me.”

  “Ginny Emerson’s parents were responsible for the layers of government protection that hid James Emerson’s past,” he revealed. “They also set up a very large trust fund to pay for Martin Emerson’s extended stay at Greenwood.”

  Rafe felt a stab of shock. “They’re alive?”

  “Yep. They’re currently stationed in Denmark.”

  He took a long minute to process the information. “Did they know Annie was in a foster home?”

  “It would be hard not to know,” Teagan pointed out in dry tones.

  Fury exploded through him.

  Annie had lost her mother, her brother, and then her father, who had been accused of being a serial killer. She’d been a mere child, alone and traumatized, and her grandparents had done nothing to reach out to her?

  What kind of bastards were they?

  “They abandoned her,” he rasped in angry disbelief.

  “They cut their losses,” Teagan corrected. “People in their political position can’t afford to be tainted by scandal.”

  “So they hid the grandson who’d been driven to murder—by their own daughter—in an expensive institute and allowed their granddaughter to be taken in by strangers.”

  “Yep.”

  Rafe shoved himself to his feet, moving to grab the rapidly cooling coffee off the counter.

  “I don’t want Annie to know about her grandparents,” he growled. “It’s bad enough to discover her mother was seemingly an abusive bitch and her brother a murderer. She doesn’t need to realize she has family out there who were willing to toss her aside like garbage.”

  Teagan sprawled back in his seat, his legs stretched out as he studied Rafe with a brooding gaze. “You won’t be able to keep it from her forever. Unless . . .”

  “Unless?”

  “Unless you pack your bags and take your girl to your ranch,” Teagan suggested, waving his hand toward the papers spread across the table. “Keep her satisfied and she can forget about this shit.”

  Rafe snorted. There was nothing in this world he wanted more than to toss Annie over his shoulder and haul her to his ranch. Hell, he was even willing to consider the idea of hog-tying her to the bed until she’d forgotten everything but the pleasure they shared.

  Unfortunately, he knew she would never forgive him.

  “I wish it was that simple,” he muttered.

  “Why isn’t it?”

  “Annie won’t leave.” He sipped the coffee, briefly wondering if it was too early to pour in a shot of whiskey. A very large shot. He had a feeling he was going to need it before the day was over. “Not until the women are found.”

  “That’s a job for the police.”

  No shit.

  He took another sip of coffee, absently listening as the shower shut off.

  “She feels responsible.”

  Teagan made a sound of disbelief. “Why, for God’s sake?”

  “Because of the connection to her father—”

  “Alleged connection,” Teagan interrupted.

  Rafe shrugged. Right now the guilt or innocence of the faux Don White was the least of his concerns.

  “And because she’s convinced her visions can lead us to whoever is responsible for the abductions.”

  Teagan tilted his head to the side. The younger man never doubted Rafe’s intuition.

  “Do you believe they can?” he asked.

  Rafe didn’t hesitate. “Yes, but there’s no way in hell I’m going to let her put herself in danger.”

  “Fine.” Placing his hands flat on the table, Teagan pushed himself out of the chair, his muscles bulging beneath his T-shirt. The man looked like he could bench-press a small car. “Then we’ll hog-tie her and take her to Texas by force,” he said, the darkness in his eyes suggesting he wasn’t entirely kidding. “Eventually the crazy bastard will be caught and you two can live happily ever after.”

  Rafe set aside his coffee, scrubbing his hands over his face.

  The rasp of his beard reminded him that he hadn’t shaved for the past two days. Christ. He probably looked like a pirate.

  Or a drug dealer.

  “She’ll insist on meeting her brother,” he said with a harsh sigh. He was under no illusion he could convince the stubborn female to leave the past in the past. “He’s the only family she has left.”

  Teagan glanced toward the door as Annie scurried from the bathroom to the bedroom.

  “Then let’s hope he’s there.”

  Rafe nodded, instantly knowing exactly what his friend was implying. “And not stalking the women of Newton,” he muttered.

  “Exactly.”

  Rafe resisted the urge to discuss the possibility of Martin Emerson being the most recent incarnation of the Newton Slayer. The house was too small, and without the shower running Annie was bound to overhear them.

  “Where’s Hauk?” he instead asked.

  “I sent him back to the motel to get some rest.” Teagan held up a hand as Rafe’s brows snapped together. “I’ll keep a watch on the house.”

  “You’re exhausted.”

  Teagan gave a lift of his shoulder. “Hauk will relieve me in a couple of hours.”

  Rafe didn’t bother to argue. He had a better chance of achieving world peace than changing Teagan’s mind. “What about Lucas?” he asked.

  “He’s having lunch with . . .” With a frown, Teagan pulled out his phone and scrolled through his messages. “With a Dr. Lawrence.”

  “Who the hell is that?”

  “The coroner who performed the autopsy on the alias Don White,” Teagan explained. “Lucas hopes to find out if the doctor was coerced by the sheriff into officially listing the death as a suicide.”

  “Damn.” Rafe shoved his fingers through his hair. Was there anything connected to the Newton Slayer that wasn’t a lie? He felt like he was stumbling through a m
inefield completely blind. And worse, he was dragging Annie along with him. “This is a fucking mess.”

  As if to prove his point, Annie appeared in the doorway of the kitchen, her damp hair pulled into a braid, and wearing a pair of jeans and a Denver Broncos sweatshirt.

  “Are you ready?” she demanded, her chin tilted to a stubborn angle.

  Clearly she was preparing for a fight.

  Rafe ignored Teagan’s twitching lips and reached to snatch the keys to the pickup off the counter.

  “Yeah, but we’re going to have a long discussion about that sweatshirt,” he muttered, crossing the floor to take her elbow in a firm grip. “No self-respecting Texan is a Bronco fan.”

  Turning onto the private road, Rafe drove them past the acres of pristinely mowed grass and large flower beds filled with late-blooming flowers and marble fountains.

  Annie frowned. Had they taken a wrong turn?

  This didn’t look like any mental institute that she’d ever seen before.

  Her suspicion only intensified as they pulled to a halt in the parking lot and she was able to see the actual building.

  Silently she studied the two-story white brick structure with a red-tile roof. It was constructed in a sleek, modern style with lots of steel and glass. There were two long wings nearly hidden behind a line of pine trees, where Annie assumed the private rooms were tucked out of sight.

  The front had tall, arched windows that overlooked the massive terrace elegantly furnished with cushioned wicker chaise longues and glass tables.

  “Are you sure this is the right place?” she muttered.

  Rafe turned off the truck and unbuckled his seat belt. “I’m sure.”

  She was slower to unhook the buckle, her gaze moving toward the marble fountain in the center of the circle drive.

  “It looks like a high-class motel.”

  “I think that’s the point,” he said, reaching to brush back a curl that had escaped from her braid. “Are you ready for this?”

  Ready?

  She swallowed the hysterical laugh.

  Was anyone ever ready to meet the brother they’d thought dead for the past twenty-two years? A brother who’d been brutalized by their mother until he was driven to slit her throat?

  Hell, she hadn’t even wrapped her brain around the fact that her father was James Emerson, Navy Captain.