Broken

by Cynthia Eden

  “I—I could see it. I told you . . . the knife. The blood on my hands. I can remember how it feels. To shove that knife into someone’s skin. To see the spray of blood.” Her hands slammed into the water, sending spray all around her. “I was so wrong. I thought I needed help, that I was . . . a victim.”

  “You are, Eve.”

  “There is no Eve!” She lunged to her feet. Whirled to face him. “I smelled that blood, I stayed in that lighthouse with you . . . and I remembered . . .” Her eyes burned with emotion. “I’m . . . I’m not a good girl, Gabe.” Said so simply, as if she were a child. I’m not a good girl.

  “Who did you kill?” he asked her.

  She blinked. “I . . . I don’t know.”

  “Are you even sure you did kill someone?” The boat was almost on them.

  “I saw the knife! The blood!”

  “But did you see a body? Maybe you were defending yourself. Maybe that memory was of you fighting off your attacker.”

  She shook her head. “I was laughing. I . . . liked it.” Her eyes closed and she said once more, “I’m not good.”

  The boat was close enough that he could see the cop on board—not Trey, but the younger guy, Dennis. And Wade was there, too. Wade who, as a rule, fucking hated boats. But he’d known that Wade would come to help him.

  Debris from the explosion littered Sand Island and the water around them. Gabe wanted to pull Eve into his arms and hold her as tight as he could, but he was afraid of making the wrong move with her.

  “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

  And—screw it—he did pull her into his arms. “We’ll figure this out. You don’t know what happened or even if that memory is real. We’ll figure this out.” Because he knew, better than anyone else, that a person could be pushed too far. Even someone who valued life, who thought he knew the difference between right and wrong . . . even a person like that could be pushed too far.

  A person like me.

  Deep inside, everyone had the potential to kill. But people usually held back. They stayed in control.

  Until someone ripped that control away.

  “Gabe!” It was Wade, shouting to him. The young Dauphin Island cop was securing the boat, but Wade had jumped out and was running toward him. “What the hell happened?”

  Where to start? “We found Alexa Chambers.”

  “What?”

  Eve pushed against Gabe’s chest. “She’s dead.”

  Wade glanced over at the lighthouse. “Sonofabitch.”

  “His souvenirs are inside,” Gabe told him. The cop was trying to rush toward them now. “And . . . there are more victims than we thought. A lot more.”

  More bodies . . . buried on Dauphin Island. They’d have to take the map that guy had left behind, and they’d see just what they could discover.

  “What the hell happened to your boat?” Wade was right beside him now. “And Jesus, man, you look like you took a beating!”

  He felt the blood on his cheek. Eve stiffened in his arms. She’d scratched him. Punched him. Fought like a wildcat as she battled to escape her hell.

  He stroked her back. “He was here,” Gabe said grimly. “The sonofabitch rigged our boat to explode. We saw him as he was racing away.” Dennis, the Coast Guard cop, was close enough to hear now. “Get an APB out on that radio. He was on a twenty-foot boat, white, with blue racing stripes on each side and a blue top. I didn’t get a clear look at him, but we’re looking for a white Caucasian”—he’d seen the guy’s hands—“over six feet. He had on a blue baseball cap and black shorts.”

  “Johnny,” Dennis said as he ran a hand over his face. “Johnny.” Then he was spinning around and rushing back to his boat.

  “What does that fucking kid Johnny have to do with this mess?” Gabe demanded.

  Wade swallowed. “We saw that fucking kid driving a boat that looked just like that one—when we were racing hell fast to get to you.”

  Gabe could only stare at him. Johnny had looked barely twenty-one. He was a kid. “He can’t be the killer. He’s too young.” Too young for the profile. Too young to have taken the victims that had been recovered at that golf course.

  Wade gave a sad shake of his head. “You and I both know . . . sometimes, evil can start early. It can take root in some people, get in them, twist them, until there’s nothing good left inside of them.”

  Eve pulled away from Gabe’s arms.

  “He can’t be the killer,” Gabe said once more. Sarah had been the one to come up with the profile. Sarah wasn’t wrong. She’d never been wrong. “But maybe that little prick knows who we’re looking for.” Because maybe . . . maybe the killer had taken on some help as the cops closed in . . .

  Eve hurried away from Gabe, heading toward the rescue boat.

  Gabe took a step after her.

  Wade’s hand landed on his shoulder. “Those are scratch marks on your face.”

  Gabe glanced at his friend.

  Wade lifted his brows. “You think I wouldn’t know? I’m calling bullshit on those marks coming from the blast.” His jaw hardened. “What went down out here?”

  I’m not good. “It was just like I told you. We found Alexa. Found the killer’s trophies, and then our boat was blown to hell.” By some punk kid? “We need to dig deeper,” Gabe told Wade. “Because this whole mess is bigger than we thought. There are more victims. They’re out there.”

  Wade nodded. “And our job is to find them.”

  Yes, it was. No matter what the cost.

  VICTORIA PALMER STARED down at the skeleton before her. She’d been working meticulously with the bones, arranging them so carefully on her table in the anatomical position—the exact pose the body would be in if she had a body lying there, and not just bones.

  She already knew that she was looking at a female victim. That was obvious from the pelvic bones. Now she needed to figure out the victim’s age, her ancestry . . . and how she’d died.

  But Victoria had already seen some of the marks on the bones. The indentions that had cut deep—when the killer sliced her to the bone. She’d seen marks like that before, and she knew a knife had been used on this woman.

  Had the knife attack killed her? Well, that would be determined soon enough. But first . . . “Who were you?” Victoria asked the woman. “And how did you wind up with that bastard?”

  She measured the bones, moving carefully. Taking her time. “I want to get everything right for you.” Victoria had been given a small work space in the back of the police station. The FBI had wanted her to get to work right away. Sure, they’d be bringing in their own experts, but her credentials and clearance had gotten her fast access to the victim’s remains. It wasn’t the first time that she’d worked in conjunction with an FBI investigation, and it wouldn’t be her last.

  Who were you?

  She made notes on her laptop. The bone measurements would help her to determine the victim’s stature. She already suspected that she was looking at a victim who’d stood at approximately five feet, four inches.

  Gloves covered Victoria’s hands as she leaned forward to expect the victim’s teeth.

  No wisdom teeth. Dental growth was key when determining a victim’s age. The bones and the teeth—they could tell you so much.

  Bones changed over time. When people were babies, their “bones” were made up of a lot of soft cartilage. That cartilage had to harden as the person aged—growth and fusion took place throughout the body. It was those fusion sites that could tell her so much.

  After she’d checked her fusion sites, Victoria moved on to the skull. Most people thought the skull was just one piece—they were wrong. The skull consisted of sutures—fusions that closed over time.

  It’s all about time.

  She checked her notes. Measured again.

  And felt more sadness sweep over her.

  Based on the length of the bones and the projected height, she’d thought the killer had taken another adult female.

  But
she’d been wrong.

  Her gloved fingers slid over the skull. Not for any sort of measurement this time, but in sorrow. “You were so young,” she whispered.

  So young to be attacked. To be murdered and walled away.

  The door opened behind her. Victoria blinked quickly, but she didn’t turn to face whoever her visitor was. She was afraid that her face would give away her emotions.

  “Viki?” That was Sarah’s voice, and Sarah was her friend, but she’d seen far too much.

  I don’t want her knowing all my secrets. So Victoria was always so extra careful around Sarah. Most people at LOST were.

  “I’m working on my report,” Victoria said, hoping her voice sounded normal. “I’ll have my notes to you soon.” Because what she was discovering would completely change Sarah’s profile of the killer.

  “Something has happened at the lighthouse.”

  Victoria glanced at her. Wade had mentioned that Gabe and Eve had been heading to the lighthouse that morning. “Gabe—”

  “He’s okay. We just got a radio from one of the cops on the scene . . . Gabe and Eve are both okay.” Sarah stepped closer. “But they found Alexa Chambers.”

  She could tell by Sarah’s voice that the woman hadn’t been found alive.

  “They also found the killer’s trophy stash.”

  Victoria flinched. Yes, she could work with the dead all day long, but the way Sarah got into the minds of the killers, the way she talked about them as if their horrific actions were totally normal—I could never do that.

  But then, Victoria knew Sarah’s secrets. Most of them anyway. Maybe it’s not fair that I know so much about her. But with Sarah, well, it was hard to hide her past.

  When your father was a notorious serial killer and his exploits were splashed all across the media, you didn’t exactly get the luxury of privacy. Or secrets.

  “Gabe thinks that there are more victims than we realized.”

  Victoria glanced back at the skeleton. If she was right about that victim’s age . . . “Yes.” Her voice was soft. Sad. There were going to be more out there.

  Sarah walked toward the table. Stared down at the bones. Sarah was never squeamish, never scared. She didn’t show much emotion at all.

  How much did you see, Sarah? When you were growing up with that monster of a father?

  Though it sure wasn’t like Victoria could judge. Her father hadn’t murdered ten women—Sarah’s held that distinction—but her own bastard of a father had killed her mother in a jealous rage.

  “Do you think she suffered?” Sarah asked as she stared down at the bones.

  “Yes,” Victoria said again. Normally she had plenty to say, but here, with the girl’s remains, too much sorrow filled her.

  Sarah glanced at her. “They all suffer, don’t they? Or else, what’s the point?”

  Victoria shivered at Sarah’s words. Sometimes, her friend terrified her.

  A CROWD WAS waiting at the dock when the rescue boat pulled in. Eve glanced at the sea of faces—most of their features were a blur to her. It was the emotions that she saw. Curiosity. Fear.

  They don’t want the killer on their island. They don’t want to be victims.

  Neither did she.

  But I’m not a victim . . .

  Eve was afraid she was something else entirely.

  “Jessica!” Her head jerked to the right at that call. The tall blond man there—she knew him. Pierce Montgomery. The brother who’d been so hesitant to claim her in Atlanta. But he was on the edge of the dock now, and the emotion on his face—it’s fear, just like the others.

  Trey was at his side. “Dammit, everybody, get back!” he barked to the crowd.

  As soon as the boat was secure, Eve jumped onto the dock. It seemed to tremble beneath her feet. A strong hand steadied her—Pierce’s hand. She looked up into his eyes. Saw the fear there and thought—

  He’s looked at me that way before. With fear in his eyes.

  “You shouldn’t have gone out there,” he murmured. “Not without me.”

  “Am I your sister?”

  A muscle jerked in his jaw.

  “Do you know me . . . know all my secrets?”

  His eyes widened and there was a realization there. “Yes . . .” But the word was low, like a warning.

  Trey had gotten the crowd back, mostly. “This place is a damn circus!” He marched toward Eve and Pierce. His gaze swept over her. She had a blanket around her shoulders and her wet clothes still clung tightly to her. “Are you okay?”

  Eve pulled that blanket closer, trying to shield herself. Gabe was still on the boat. Wade had stayed back at the island, he wanted to work with the FBI and the recovery team that was being sent in.

  “I’m not hurt.” That was the truth. As far as being okay? No.

  “We’ve got a full search on for Johnny,” Trey said, voice curt. “We’ll find that guy. You can count on it. Dammit . . . Johnny. Johnny Thompson. The kid was always trouble, from the minute Clay brought him into town.”

  If he’d already left the island, Trey wouldn’t be finding him. And why would the guy have stayed?

  “I should have been here,” Pierce said. His hand closed around her shoulders. “I thought it was better to stay away—I’m sorry.”

  What was he sorry for? He hadn’t done anything to her.

  Gabe made his way off the boat. She didn’t turn to look at him, but she could see him approaching from the corner of her eye. Her body was too attuned to his. Whenever he was near, she reacted.

  He’s the only man I react to. Trey is handsome, strong, a cop. I look at him, and, despite our past, I feel nothing. She didn’t even feel safe around him. Why not?

  She cleared her throat. The images in her head were about to drive her crazy. “Can we go to your office?” Eve asked Trey, ducking her head toward him. “I—I need to talk with you.”

  “Of course,” Trey said quickly. “You know you can always tell me anything.”

  “Eve.” Gabe’s voice held a sharp, warning note.

  Pierce stiffened beside her. “You remember, don’t you?” His hold tightened on her.

  “I remember . . . a knife.” Blood on my hands. Laughing. And she couldn’t carry this guilt around in her mind. “I—I think . . .” The crowd had dispersed but her voice still dropped to a whisper. “I think I killed someone.”

  Shock flashed over Trey’s face. “What?”

  “Eve, no,” Gabe snapped.

  But in the next instant it was Pierce who took charge. Pierce who pulled her up against him, wrapping his arm around her side and holding her in a too-tight grip. “My sister doesn’t know what she’s saying.”

  She knew exactly what she was saying.

  “And she has no more comments, not for the police. Not for the FBI.” He gave Gabe a hard nod. “And your services are no longer needed.”

  What?

  “Come on, Jessica, I’ll take care of you.” Then he started half pulling, half carrying her away from that dock. “Not another word,” he whispered. “Please, Jess, don’t.”

  And she realized that Pierce knew exactly what she’d done.

  “Hold the hell up.” Trey ran around and blocked their path. “She just said she killed someone.” Disbelief was on his face. “Sweetheart, what are you talking about? I’ve known you all my life. You aren’t a killer.”

  Sweetheart. “Yes, I am.” Gabe had moved to Trey’s side. Another obstacle in her path. “And I think I liked it.”

  “No more!” Pierce’s near-yell. “She doesn’t know what she’s saying. My sister is having a psychotic break. She’s had one before, Trey, shit, you know I had to put her in the hospital before—”

  “What?” Eve’s shocked question cut through his words. She’d had a breakdown before?

  “We’re done here,” Pierce said, pulling her close. “Done. Any questions for Jessica will need to go through my attorney.”

  Her body was shaking, splintering. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. The word b
lasted through her mind again and again.

  Trey’s radio crackled to life. He yanked it up. “Wallace.”

  “Johnny was just spotted running into one of the fishing houses near the bridge. He’s there!”

  Trey whirled around. Over his shoulder Eve could see the line of fishing houses, about ten of them. Big boats were behind those houses—shrimping boats with heavy nets that skimmed the top of the water.

  “Keep him there!” Trey yelled into his phone as he began to run. “Do not approach, do you hear me? Do not approach! I want that kid brought in alive.”

  And he was racing away. As if she hadn’t just confessed to murder. The guy didn’t even have one of the other cops take her into custody.

  But Gabe wasn’t moving. Gabe was still there, staring down at her. His expression was unreadable. His body tense.

  “You need to get out of our way.” Pierce spoke in a low voice. “Your job is done. I have my sister and I’ll take care of her from here on out.”

  He’d take care of her? He hadn’t even been there . . .

  Why didn’t you help me?

  Eve’s breath choked out because that desperate question was like an echo in her mind, from so long ago.

  And the dock disappeared. She saw herself in a white room. Her hands had been bound to the sides of the bed that she lay in. She’d been crying, thrashing. Why aren’t you helping me, Pierce?

  “Why didn’t you help me?” she said now as she turned toward the man who was her brother.

  He flinched.

  “My job isn’t done,” Gabe said into the thick silence there. “And I don’t fucking work for you.” He reached for Eve’s hand. “Come on. If Trey is arresting that Johnny bastard, we have to find out what the kid knows.”

  “Don’t touch my sister!” Pierce yelled, his handsome face suddenly turning very dark. “You don’t know—” But he was turning away from Gabe and pulling Eve closer to him. “I didn’t want you to remember that part.” His voice was hushed. “That’s why I stayed back. I was afraid that I’d make you remember, that by being with me . . . the past would come back.” His words roughened. “I thought it might even be better, at first, if you were someone else. Because those memories have been ripping you apart for years.”