Reaching her, Lexie caught Taylor in her arms, holding her carefully, spotting the knife sticking out of her at the same time Aidan did.
“Don’t touch it,” he snapped. “Taylor, where is Vonnie?”
“Basement,” she whispered. “Kitchen’s to the left, stairs hidden in the back of the pantry. Two doors . . . I dropped the keys. He’s with her!”
He nodded. Catching Lexie’s eye, he tried to communicate a lot with one look. That he cared about her, that he would be back. That he would save Vonnie.
He merely said, “Get her out to my car and call Dunston.”
She nodded, but before he could run into the house, she grabbed his arm. “Please be careful.”
“I will.”
Hold on, Vonnie.
He ran to the house, up the steps, and inside. As soon as he hit the threshold, he got that strong smell of gingerbread again, just as rotten, just as filthy. It smelled like death. This whole house smelled like death and utter corruption of the spirit.
The kitchen was to his left, and as he ran through it, he saw a surveillance monitor. The picture on it chilled his blood.
Vonnie was lying on a cot and a man knelt on top of her, choking the life out of her.
Aidan didn’t even waste the time looking for a weapon; he leapt for the stairs and took them three or four at a time. He found the keys at the base of them, scooped them up midstride just in case, and ran through an open door and down a short hallway.
A second door, ahead of him, was closed. Gripping the keys, he ran to it, tested it, and realized it was locked. Doubting Taylor had stopped to lock Vonnie in with the madman, he figured it had to lock automatically from the outside.
“Damn it,” he snarled, shifting frantically through the keys. Luck was with him, and he found the right one almost immediately.
The man kneeling on the bed was so busy trying to murder Vonnie Jackson that he didn’t even hear Aidan push the door open and burst into the room. Running to build up speed, he launched himself at Mark Young, sending both of them flying right over Vonnie’s head into a hard cement wall.
Young, whose face was dripping blood, tried to fight. But it wasn’t so easy when he didn’t have a young girl’s throat between his hands.
Still, he was cornered and he knew it, so he gave it his all. Shoving the heavy metal cot out of the way, he tipped it over, trapping Vonnie beneath it and tried to make a break for it.
“No, you don’t,” Aidan snarled.
He couldn’t stop to help Vonnie, who was squirming under the bed. He had to stop Young.
Aidan attacked again, certain he’d never in his life been so overcome with rage. He pounded the man, throwing every ounce of himself behind every punch that landed on the killer’s face. His knuckles grew bloody and he knew he was probably breaking some fingers, but he couldn’t stop, not while Young fought back, kicking and scratching like an animal.
Suddenly, the other man bent over and managed to wrap his hands around a length of chain. He swung it brutally, cracking it against Aidan’s face, splitting his cheek open. Roaring, Aidan wiped off the blood with the back of his arm and charged again. But Young still had the chain, and this time when he cracked it, it caught Aidan in the throat.
He winced, hesitating for a moment. Young took advantage, darting for the door. But the former high school principal had made a basic mistake.
He had neglected to kill his very angry victim.
Somehow, Vonnie had wriggled free of her chains and escaped the cot. She’d crawled out of the way, and apparently seeing Young trying to get away, grabbed a long, thin piece of wood that had been lying nearby.
Aidan saw her step out of the shadows as Young tried to run past her.
He saw her plunge the pointy, broken end of the stake into the man’s chest like Van Helsing taking out a vicious vampire.
He heard the killer scream, then watched him fall.
Young clutched his chest, blood gushed up around the stake, more pumping out with every beat of his black heart. And above him stood Vonnie. She stared down, shell-shocked, like a prisoner of war. Yet her eyes were filled with fire—hatred and rage—as she watched her tormentor bleed out.
As Aidan regained his breath and made his way toward her, Vonnie whispered something to Young, who lay dying at her feet.
“Fuck you. And fuck your bedtime stories.”
Chapter Sixteen
Tuesday, 10:15 a.m.
Lexie made her way out of the hospital that morning, after spending a half hour with Taylor and Vonnie. Minor celebrities now—the girls who had survived the Granville Ghoul—they were sharing a room, surrounded by well-wishers. Not to mention the police and the media. National news trucks were parked outside and everybody from Megyn Kelly to Matt Lauer wanted to talk to the girls. And to Chief Dunston.
That made her smile. At least, what little she could smile lately.
Taylor’s parents, heartbroken and joyful at the same time, were at the hospital nonstop, too. They spent their time nursing one daughter back to health while planning the other one’s funeral.
Sunday night, when they’d arrived at the hospital and Walter and Ann-Marie had learned Lexie had been the one who’d gotten Taylor to safety and stayed there, guarding over her until the police arrived, they had been unable to stop thanking her. As she’d told them, she didn’t deserve the thanks. She’d just been a babysitter, like she had when Taylor and her beautiful, lost twin had been sassy little girls.
Aidan deserved thanks, yes.
In truth, though, Taylor had saved herself, and her friend, by being strong enough to break free and get help. But only after Vonnie had saved her, too, holding Young back so Taylor could get away.
The brutalized teenagers had saved each other. It was movie-of-the-week stuff. Which was already being discussed, or so she’d heard.
Fortunately, since Vonnie had turned eighteen during her ordeal, and therefore had the right to determine who could come in and who couldn’t, her mother was not among the well-wishers. Last she’d heard, Berna Jackson was at a bar, wailing to anyone who would listen that her precious daughter had been brainwashed by that monster into not wanting to be near her own loving mama.
“Good riddance,” she muttered, knowing when the police went to tell her Vonnie had been found alive, her first comment was that her daughter would be getting a lawyer so they could sue somebody.
Heading outside, she paused to appreciate the beautiful November morning, warm and sunny. The town of Granville, with its church spires and its quaint downtown probably looked like a picture postcard on the daily news being broadcast all over the country.
God, she could not wait to get out of here. Ever since she and Aidan had discussed it the other day, she’d known it was going to happen. She loved Walter, and she’d stay around for as long as he needed her. But once that was done, she was picking up stakes and moving on.
The only question was where.
The answer to that question kind of depended on a man she hadn’t even known one week ago.
“And what are you going to think about that?” she muttered as she crossed the hospital parking lot.
He’d probably think she was crazy. But over the past few days, reality had not only slapped her in the face, it had also kicked her in the gut. She’d always known life was short, but had never really acknowledged just how easily your entire world could turn upside down. How the people who were part of it could feature prominently in your morning and be dead that night.
If she’d learned anything at all, it was to not waste what time you had. Not in a job that sucked, or in a town she hated, or in an empty bed when she could share a wonderful, sexy man’s. At least, as long as he wanted her to.
After this morning, he might not want her to.
Reaching the rental car—she’d finally remembered her own, and had it towed from the school parking lot yesterday—she drove away from the hospital. Her car would be undergoing repairs for a week. Thankfully, Dun
ston had offered to help with the insurance issues, especially since a member of the Hellfire Club had admitted to vandalizing the car in an effort to get Lexie to back off the story.
Though she had a lot of work to do, since she and el-creepo Stan would be handling the paper while Walter was out, helping his family recover from their tragedy, she knew there was one stop she had to make before she went back to the office.
Part of her couldn’t wait, needing to see Aidan, to touch him and suck up some of the strength and warmth—the calmness—he brought to her. She also wanted to see for herself that he was okay, that his bruises were healing and he was taking care of his bandaged hands and stitched cuts. She’d slept at her own place last night, after having spent the previous two in his arms, and had felt his absence so keenly it was like they’d shared a bed—or a couch—for years.
How she could so desperately miss something she’d had so very briefly, she didn’t know. But she knew what she felt and she wanted to be near him.
Mostly.
Yeah. Mostly. A tiny part of her wasn’t looking forward to going over to his place this morning one little bit. She glanced at the passenger seat, seeing that reason sitting starkly against the gray fabric. The paper-clipped pages were an eight-by-eleven accusation that had taunted her since the minute it had come off her printer late the previous night.
It was the article she’d written for tomorrow’s Sun. A firsthand account of everything that had happened, her own involvement with it, from start to finish. She’d needed to get it all out and had spoken to no one before committing the story to paper.
Aidan was going to hate it. And maybe her.
“No,” she whispered as she reached his street, “he’ll understand. He’ll have to.”
Parking in front of his house, she took a deep breath, stuck the article in her purse, and walked to his front door. This time when she knocked, he opened it with a smile.
“Hey.”
“Hey yourself,” he said.
“Can I come in?”
“Unless you want me to kiss you on the front step.”
She smiled. “Actually, that would be fine.”
So he did. Stepping out of his door, Aidan joined her on the porch and cupped her cheek in his hand. He tilted her head back, then bent to press his lips against hers, kissing her slowly, thoroughly.
Lexie’s eyes drifted closed. She parted her lips, welcoming him, knowing his taste and his scent. Their tongues slid together, easy and soft, and she melted against him, every feminine bit of her reacting to his touch.
They’d shared sultry passion the first time they’d made love Sunday morning. Yesterday, after all they’d gone through the night before, it had been desperate and wild, as if they both needed to feel alive by giving themselves over to sensation and instinct.
This, though, was different. Sweet and sexy, tender and familiar. He knew how to kiss her now, knew she loved the way he teased her a little with his tongue before plunging for a deeper taste. She’d dated men for months who’d never realized how much she loved deep, slow, wet kisses that went on for hours. But Aidan already knew. Just like he knew when she needed a slow, steady possession, or when she wanted to be taken so hard she lost her mind.
He knew every inch of her. Because he’d shared her dreams. And he’d shared her reality.
They had been allies. Now they were lovers.
It was what came next that worried her.
So, with a low sigh, she ended the kiss. “I needed that,” she admitted.
“Me too.”
Dropping an arm over her shoulder, he led her inside, shutting the door behind them. She watched, unable to prevent a smile when she saw what he was wearing.
“What’s funny?”
“Yellow? Seriously, you’re wearing yellow?”
“Hey, it’s not black,” he said with a shrug, pulling at the neckline of his pale yellow sweatshirt, which he wore with a pair of black pants.
“You look like a freaking bumblebee,” she had to say, shaking her head as she laughed.
That was enough. Aidan grabbed the bottom of the sweatshirt and pulled it off, tossing it to the floor. “That’s why I always wear black,” he snapped. “I’m lousy with colors.”
She couldn’t laugh at that; she was too busy staring at the bare chest, the strong arms. Bad move, Nolan.
Clothed, Aidan took her breath away. Shirtless, with that broad male chest rippling and hard, he almost stopped her heart. And he knew it, too. His hot stare narrowed in on her mouth as he stepped forward, reaching for her.
Lexie stepped back, holding up a hand. “Wait.”
“Are you kidding?”
Swallowing hard, she said, “I need to talk to you about something.” She gestured toward his office. “Can we go sit down?”
Aidan’s sexy mood faded. He could obviously tell by her tone that he wasn’t going to like whatever she had to say.
Definitely no kidding about that.
She led him into the office, taking a seat on the sofa, waiting for him to sit beside her. But he didn’t. He stayed over by his desk, leaning against it, his big arms crossed over his bare chest.
Oh, how she wanted to feel those arms around her again. Hopefully, after this conversation, she would still have the chance to.
“What is it?”
Lexie reached into her bag and pulled out the article, setting it on the table.
“I know I promised you not to mention—”
“Hell!”
“Hear me out.”
His mouth stayed shut, his jaw clenching.
“Aidan, if you had been a source, a tip, I would absolutely have left you out of it. Period. End of story. But you became part of the news. Don’t you understand? You saved those girls’ lives. You were there every step of the way. How can I leave you out of the story?”
“Why does there have to be a story?” he asked, grinding the words out like he had the first time she’d come here to see him. “Why do you have to be the one to tell it?”
“Because it’s my job, for one thing,” she said, knowing as soon as the words left her mouth that it wasn’t enough, and she hadn’t put that right.
“Yeah. Your job. You’re a reporter; it’s what you do,” he spat.
Lexie rose from her seat and walked toward the desk, stopping a few inches away from him. “I know you hate everything about my profession, okay? I get that. But can’t you acknowledge that maybe—just maybe—the reporters weren’t the bad guys in this? If I hadn’t gotten shut down a month ago, maybe that bastard would have been caught sooner.” Her breath hitched in her throat. “Maybe Jenny wouldn’t have died.”
He closed his eyes for a second, breathing deeply. “I know. I’m sorry.”
Lexie hadn’t been after his sympathy, only his understanding. “I came here to show you the article, to see if there’s anything you want me to change.”
“Not to ask me if you can go ahead with it?”
She could have lied, could have tried to ease him into agreeing, but she wasn’t that person. She just couldn’t be. “No. I’m going ahead with it.”
He nodded once. “At least you’re honest.”
“Always,” she promised him. “Being totally honest, let me add, I did the best I could to keep my word to you. There’s not a single sentence in there about visions or psychic phenomenon or anything else. Just the facts, not interpretations. You’re mentioned as a local resident who helped rescue the girls. Which will come as no big surprise to anyone, considering Taylor and Vonnie, and Chief Dunston, have already mentioned you in interviews. I’m just expounding on it, filling in the black-and-white details.”
His stance relaxed a little; she saw the stiff shoulders relax. “I don’t understand,” he told her, “the way you walked in here, I thought . . .”
“You thought I wrote a big article about the Savannah psychic who used his mystic powers to save the day?”
He shrugged, looking uncomfortable.
�
�I didn’t. I wouldn’t. I’m a reporter and I report the facts. I don’t share impressions or feelings or my thoughts about what you were doing whenever you tried to reach out to those missing girls.” Reaching up, she put a hand on his chest, unable to resist digging her fingers into that ridge of muscle. “I cannot change what I do—because I don’t want to. But I can tell you I am someone who does it with integrity and honesty.”
After a long hesitation, he admitted, “I know you do.”
Lexie inched closer. Now was when it got important. So terribly important.
“Aidan, I have never believed in love at first sight, and yet I already know I have feelings for you. They get stronger every time I’m with you.”
He licked his lips, considered, and then admitted, “It’s the same for me.”
“I think we can have something. But to be blunt, I don’t even want to try until I know you’re going into this with eyes wide open, seeing me for who I really am, and accepting what I do, and still able to like me at the end of the day, as well as fall in love with me.” She leaned closer, brushing her mouth against his cheek. “Just like I see you for who you really are. Like you. And I am probably falling in love with you.”
“You think so?”
She nodded. “You’re deep, and you’re calm. You’re wounded, and you’re strong. You’re brave and you’re loving. You have a gift you’ve been afraid to use and you haven’t ever let yourself truly fall in love with anyone because you know when that happens, you’re going to fall so hard it will affect you heart, mind, and soul. Forever. Am I right?”
She held her breath, waiting for what seemed the longest time.
Then he slid his hands around her waist, and she got her answer.
“You’re mostly right,” he whispered, drawing her closer so that she rested against his warm body.
Lexie was so relieved, so utterly happy, she didn’t say anything, she merely wrapped her arms around him, rested her cheek on his chest, and let him hold her.
“I do like you . . . and not just because I have a weakness for redheads.” He brushed his lips against her hair, and then her temple, before growing serious again. “Lex, I like everything about you, including the fact that you’re a pain-in-the-ass, but still a very noble, reporter.”
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