by Cynthia Eden
“Eve.”
This time she was the one who didn’t look back at him.
“I want you more than I’ve ever wanted any woman.”
Good to know. She’d hate to see how he acted if he didn’t want her.
“I won’t turn away again. I can’t. If I get you under me in bed. If I get you over me—if I get you any damn way, you’re mine.”
Eve stopped at the bedroom’s threshold. She already knew she wouldn’t be getting any sleep that night. If she closed her eyes, nightmares would just chase her.
“You need to be able to choose . . . you need to know what you might be giving up for me.”
She stared into the darkness of that bedroom. “And what would you give up for me?”
Silence. But that was an answer, wasn’t it?
She headed into the bedroom. Shut the door.
Then thought she heard the soft growl of one word.
“Everything.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
THE WATER STRETCHED BEFORE HER, GLINTING with the afternoon sunlight. Eve found herself leaning forward toward the dashboard, struggling to get a desperate glimpse of the island up ahead.
They’d flown to the Mobile, Alabama, airport. Gabe had been her silent companion during that too-short flight. They’d barely seemed to get up in the air before they were heading right back down. Mobile had been a blur of traffic as they headed down Airport Boulevard, then to the interstate. But, all too soon, they’d left the bustle of the city behind them. Now, all she could see was water—and one seriously large bridge looming dead ahead.
“It used to be called Massacre Island,” Gabe said, his voice low and quiet and his eyes on the bridge. A tall beast of a bridge. A metal sign to the right indicated they were heading over the Intercoastal Waterway. “Seems way back when, French explorers came upon the island and found what looked like a large pile of bones. They thought they were looking at the mass grave of about fifty people.”
Their rented SUV started climbing over the bridge. Seagulls flew next to them, seeming to race their vehicle.
They slowly reached the high crest of that bridge, and Eve’s breath stilled. “It doesn’t look like hell.” Not some terrible massacre site.
She saw white beaches. Beautiful white, gleaming beaches that stretched and looped. She saw heavy marshes. Sail boats, their white sails a bright contrast to the dark water.
“The Massacre Island name didn’t exactly stick,” Gabe said as they descended on the other side of the bridge. “The French started calling the place ‘Isle Dauphine,’ and, over time, the name became Dauphin Island.”
She couldn’t tear her gaze off that island.
Home.
The one word whispered through her mind.
“The place has seen a lot of tragedy. That oil spill a few years ago hit the people here real hard, and hell, that recent hurricane sure didn’t do any good for them.”
“And finding out that a serial killer had been hunting here? Like that was good news?” The sharp edge of her own voice surprised her.
As they headed off the bridge, they passed a police cruiser parked near a big wooden sign that proclaimed: WELCOME TO HISTORIC DAUPHIN ISLAND.
Ice seemed to cover her cheeks, then fast, hot pricks of heat ignited across her skin, melting the ice away.
Gabe slowed the SUV. “Are you okay?”
Her hands had flattened on the dashboard.
To the right, she could see a heavy fishing boat returning to the island. Long nets hung near the deck of that boat.
Another marina waited to the right. So many ships—some polished and sleek, some old and showing the ravages of time.
“I—I need to get out.” She couldn’t breathe in that SUV.
“It’s all right.” He was trying to soothe her. She didn’t want to be soothed.
A scream was building in her throat, and Eve was afraid it would break free at any moment. And if she started screaming—
Will I ever stop?
“The condo is less than five minutes from here at a tower called Dauphin View. Hell, the whole island is only fourteen miles long. We can—”
“Stop the car.”
He yanked the wheel to the right, taking them into the parking lot of a gas station, and he hit the brakes, bringing them to a jarring halt.
At once, Eve jumped out of the SUV. The scent of the ocean hit her. That salty air surrounded her, and the cries of seagulls filled her ears.
Those cries sounded like screams. Her screams.
“No,” she whispered, shaking her head and shuddering. Some teenagers were walking out of the gas station. They frowned at her.
“Lady, are you okay?” one called out.
Before she could answer, Gabe was there. He caught her hands in his and swore. “You’re ice cold.”
No, she wasn’t. She was burning up. Burning from the inside. “B-Bakery . . .”
“What?”
Her heart hurt because it was beating so fast and hard. She tried to pull away from him, but he held her in an unbreakable grip, so Eve tilted her head to the left. “There’s a bakery there.”
He glanced to the left. “I don’t see one.”
“Down the street. About twenty feet. There’s a bakery there.” She knew it with absolute certainty.
His hold loosened on her, and Eve broke away. She tore from his arms and ran across the street. A car honked and brakes squealed.
“Eve!” Gabe roared her name.
Only that’s not me . . .
She rushed past a church, past a row of houses, and then she saw the bakery. The scent of fresh cinnamon rolls teased her nose, and she hurried up the porch steps. The bakery was a converted house, with an overflowing parking lot as folks rushed after the sweet scent that hung and tempted in the air.
Eve shoved open the door. A bell jingled lightly over her head, and for an instant, she almost lost her balance as the world seemed to go off-center around her. There was a long, snaking line of people leading up to the bakery counter. The hum of voices filled the air.
I know this place.
The bell jingled again. “Jessica!” Her name was louder, far more demanding.
She felt a hand on her shoulder as he whirled her around to face him.
It isn’t Gabe.
And it slowly dawned on her that the name the man had just called hadn’t been Eve.
Jessica.
She was staring up into a pair of warm brown eyes. The man’s handsome face had been kissed by the sun, and his brown hair held streaks of blond, no doubt also from the sun. He smiled at her as she stared up at him, and slashes—not dimples, but slashes—flashed in his cheeks. “I’ll be damned . . . it’s you!”
The bakery had gone dead silent around them.
Eve shook her head.
The bell jingled again. Over the man’s shoulder she saw Gabe’s tense face. Worried, his blue eyes locked on her.
But then the man who’d called her Jessica, who wore a policeman’s uniform, leaned forward and kissed her.
His mouth touched hers with familiarity, with skill, but—it felt wrong. She struggled against him, pushing frantically with her hands and twisting her head away.
“Jessica?”
“Get those fucking hands off her, now!” Gabe’s voice. And he wasn’t waiting for the brown-eyed man in the cop uniform to comply. He grabbed the guy and shoved him back.
Eve’s hand slapped against the nearby wall as she drew in deep, shaky breaths of air.
“Buddy, you don’t want to assault the chief of police,” the man snarled.
Gabe took up a stance right in front of her. “And when a woman shoves you away, you damn well need to learn how to back off!”
Everyone was staring at them. Eve’s frantic gaze flew around the bakery. The two little old ladies behind the counter had frozen, their mouths wide-open.
“We’re causing a scene,” Gabe said flatly. “Let’s take this outside.”
Before, Eve had bee
n so desperate to get inside the bakery. Now she was stumbling as she pushed her way out. The sunlight seemed even brighter, even hotter when she stepped onto the porch.
“Jess, I thought you were dead!” The cop was following on her heels. “Everyone did. Hell, I’ve got FBI agents who’ve been breathing down my neck for months. Ever since you vanished after the party at the marina . . .”
“You’re Trey Wallace.” Gabe was right beside Eve. They’d now moved a few feet away from the bakery’s sprawling porch and were in the shadows of a massive oak tree. A light breeze blew over Eve’s face, but that breeze didn’t cool her down.
“Yeah, I am, and who the hell are you?” Trey demanded.
Gabe reached into his back pocket and pulled out his ID. “My name’s Gabe Spencer, and I own an organization called LOST.”
“LOST,” Trey repeated softly. A hint of a southern accent rolled faintly through his words. Not a thick twang, a rough growl. Deep and dark. “I’ve heard of that group. You—you find the missing. You found my friend Kenneth Longtree’s daughter when she went missing during a spring-break trip to Mexico.”
Gabe nodded. “I remember her.”
Trey’s gaze shot to Eve. “Did he find you, Jessica? Is that what happened? He found you and brought you back to me!” He took a step toward her, his arms outstretched.
Gabe stepped into his path and shoved a hand against the guy’s chest, his fingers barely missing the badge clipped there. “Easy there, slick. In case you didn’t get that message before, the lady doesn’t want you touching her.”
A furrow appeared between Trey’s brows. “Why aren’t you saying anything, Jessica?”
“I—” She cleared her throat and tried again. “I don’t know what to say.”
Those brown eyes narrowed. “Your voice is different.” Now he looked suspicious. His gaze raked her. “Your hair’s different. The color’s too dark. And you . . . you’re too thin.”
Maybe he was about to say that he’d mistaken her. That she wasn’t Jessica.
Gabe’s fingers tangled with hers. Trey’s gaze dipped, noting that movement. “She doesn’t remember her past,” Gabe explained. “She walked into my office in Atlanta a few days ago. She wanted my help to find out just who the hell she really is.”
Trey’s gaze was on their fingers.
“Because, maybe,” Gabe continued quietly, “she is Jessica Montgomery. The woman the FBI thinks fell prey to the Lady Killer.” He paused a beat. “Or maybe she isn’t. But we’re down here because we thought the people who knew Jessica the best—the people here where she lived—would be able to tell us the truth.”
Trey’s stare finally lifted from their locked hands. His eyes met hers. “We need to take this back to my office. Gossip on this island runs like wildfire.” He motioned back toward the bakery. “And we’ve already given them enough of a show for the day.”
His police cruiser was parked a few feet away, its door hanging open.
“I saw you run across the street,” he murmured to Eve. “At first I thought you were a ghost. You’ve sure as hell haunted me enough days and nights.”
She swallowed.
“Jessica—”
“Eve,” she blurted. “Please . . . just Eve.” Because she didn’t feel right answering to another woman’s name. She’d talked with the nurses at the hospital, and they’d come up with that name together. Sure, it might just be random, but it was hers. Eve because I was a blank slate, and Gray . . . because the skies had been so gray and stormy after I woke in that hospital.
But Trey shook his head. “I know you. You think I’d forget the only woman I’ve ever loved? It’s you. It’s you.”
Her frantic heartbeat filled her ears because he was staring at her with absolute recognition on his face.
SHE WAS BACK.
She could have stayed away. Could have run, but she’d come home.
To me.
Jessica knew exactly what she was doing, and he could hardly wait for the true fun to begin. She’d changed in the last few months. Those months that she’d spent away from him. There was more of a fight to her now, oh, he knew that. He had the bruises to prove it.
He’d turned her into a fighter. He’d taught her to dole out pain. To hurt others.
He’d always wondered if, deep inside, she might be more like he was. Now, he knew the truth.
You are perfect.
No fear. No shrinking violet. Even with her mind twisted, she was fighting her way back to him.
She should be given a reward for that. Some help, so that she realized she was truly on the right path.
A path that led to him.
And he knew just how to show her the way. A demonstration would be necessary, but where . . . where could he find the right tool to help his Jessica? Especially on such short notice.
I like to hunt longer, to build up the anticipation.
But for Jessica, he’d make an exception.
“THE FBI TOOK over a huge chunk of my precinct and the town hall.” Trey sat perched on the edge of his desk. Gabe noted that the man’s eyes kept drifting to Eve. Lingering on her far too much.
Eyes up, buddy.
“When those bodies were found on the old golf course, hell, it sure stirred things up down here.” Trey exhaled. “It’s supposed to be paradise, you know? That’s how we bill it to the tourists. Come get away in paradise. We don’t tell them to escape to hell.”
Yeah, he could see where that wouldn’t fly with the tourism industry. “How many FBI agents are still here?” Gabe asked. He’d have to make contact with them ASAP.
“Two. And they have a team of techs digging up that old golf course, looking for more bodies.” His hand curved around the edge of his desk. “The golf course used to be part of the old country club here on the island. It shut down years ago, but the owners didn’t want to see some high-rise take its place, so they just kept the property empty. The course backs right up to the beach. The view there is killer.”
It had been.
As if realizing what he’d just said, Trey coughed a bit. “We, uh, left the area alone, thinking it was safe. My unit is small and we just patrolled there occasionally. We had no idea that some twisted jerk was dumping bodies out there.”
“Especially since he was hiding them so well,” Gabe noted.
Trey nodded. “When Hurricane Albert hit early in the season, the storm took away nearly eight feet of that beach near the golf course, and during the clean-up, we found—”
“Bodies,” Eve finished softly.
Gabe thought she looked too pale, but she was definitely holding it together. Not surprising. He already knew how strong she was.
“What was left of them, anyway,” Trey muttered. “But the FBI folks told me that sand slowed down the decomposition rates so they were able to make fast IDs on the remains and to figure out just what the freak out there had done to them.”
Gabe saw Eve flexing the fingers of her right hand. The fingers that had been broken. Then she lifted her hand, and the tips of her fingers skimmed along her neck.
Along her scar?
“My team is coming down to the island,” Gabe said, aware that his voice came out too rough. “I’d appreciate your cooperation as we investigate.”
Trey’s brows climbed. “You think you’ll be able to find out more than the FBI?”
Yes, he did. “I have a former FBI agent working for me. Dean Bannon will be here tomorrow—and my forensic anthropologist, Victoria Palmer, will be with him.” He rolled back his shoulders. “Victoria is the best in the business. If she can get access to the remains—”
“They’re not here any longer.” Trey’s lips thinned. “But she can see all the reports I have. And . . . and the FBI is still searching in the sand. Trying to see if there are any . . . more bodies.” He’d hesitated there at the end.
Eve stiffened. “You mean they are trying to find Jessica Montgomery’s body, right?”
“You—she—fit the killer’s profi
le.” Trey’s voice was quiet, and his gaze was still far too watchful as he focused on Eve. “With more women still unaccounted for, they have to search. They can’t give up.” A pause. “I can’t give up.” His gaze slid back to Gabe. “So, yes, you’ll be getting your cooperation from me. I want to do everything in my power to stop this bastard. No one kills on my island. No one.”
Gabe nodded. If the police chief hadn’t agreed to help him, he would have found a way to go around the guy. Dean already had an in with the FBI team working the case. But it was good to know they’d be getting cooperation.
“We’ll be staying at the Montgomery condo,” Gabe said as he rose and reached for Eve’s arm. “Pierce Montgomery knows that we’re trying to uncover her past and stop the killer, and he—”
“He doesn’t want you to be Jessica.”
The cop’s words stopped Gabe. He glanced back at him. He’s watching her again.
“I saw him, after you vanished,” Trey explained. “After we all started putting the pieces of the puzzle together and we realized what had happened . . .” He straightened. Walked toward her with a slow stride, almost as if he were afraid he’d frighten her if he moved too fast.
If you go in for another kiss, man, you’re done.
“Pierce was torn up. The guy was shattering right before my eyes. Hell, you were all he ever had. Sometimes, you told me that scared you. Because you were afraid of what would happen to him without you.”
You.
Eve shook her head. “You can’t know that I’m her. Pierce—he wasn’t sure. Like you said, my voice is wrong, my—”
Trey reached out and brushed back her hair.
Gabe was the one to stiffen now.
But Trey was just staring at the scar on her neck. “He slit your throat. Just like he did to the others.”
She pulled her hair back to cover the scar.
“Pierce is afraid. He knows it’s you, though, or he never would have given you access to the condo. Jessica’s home.”
“Do you have any of Jessica Montgomery’s possessions?” Gabe asked, making sure to keep any emotion out of his voice. The cop had enough emotion for them all. “We need a DNA sample for comparison—”
“And since you were adopted,” Trey murmured, “you can’t just be compared with Pierce.”