Broken

by Cynthia Eden

EVE HURRIED INTO the condo. The lights were blazing but she still felt . . . nervous. Scared. Because she’d thought the condo was a sanctuary. When all along . . .

  He was watching me.

  “We’ll get our stuff,” Gabe said behind her, “and then get on the road out of here.”

  Her gaze slid to the right. To the painting of the lighthouse that she’d done before. Painting furiously, wildly, at an image that wouldn’t leave her alone.

  Eve hesitated as she stared at that painting. Then she found herself inching closer to it. The paintbrushes were in a cup of water, sitting there as if forgotten.

  Let’s play a game, sweetheart . . .

  Her fingers reached for the brush.

  “WHAT ARE YOU hoping to find here, Sarah?” Wade asked her as Sarah hurried toward Clay’s house. A yellow line of police tape roped off the stairs.

  Sarah hesitated at the tape. “Something that isn’t perfect.”

  “You know that makes no damn sense, right?”

  Lightning sliced across the sky. Rain was pelting down on her. The first bands of the storm were already coming onshore.

  “Go back and stay in the car,” she told him, because she needed to be up there alone. Needed to be able to think and search without someone else breathing down her neck. What did you leave behind? And Wade would just distract her if he went up there. “I’ll be as fast as I can.”

  “Yeah, how about you make that fast . . . as in ten minutes, and if you’re not done then, I’m coming up there and dragging you out.”

  When she glanced at him, he was standing beside the rental car, glowering at her.

  “We’re not getting caught in that storm,” Wade told her. “I’m not going to risk you.”

  Because Wade always followed orders.

  I don’t.

  Sarah slid under the tape and hurried up the stairs. The door was locked, but she had skills that most people weren’t aware of. When you grew up with her particular background, you learned all about breaking and entering.

  And killing.

  Sarah had the door open in seconds and slipped inside. The lights were off, darkness everywhere, and she hated the darkness. She flipped on the lights.

  But the lights didn’t make the place any better.

  What did I miss?

  She went back to Clay’s bedroom. All of the pictures of Jessica Montgomery had been removed. Tagged and bagged as evidence. Agent Stonebridge had been very thorough. The wall was now a stark white, staring back at her. White except for . . .

  Sarah leaned in closer. There was a streak of red across that wall. Faint. That red could have been anything. Paint. A marker.

  Blood.

  The red had dried, and she’d have to get a sample to figure out just what she was looking at. She didn’t have any evidence collection bags with her, so she hurried into the bathroom. She reached for the mirror behind the sink, knowing by its shape that the medicine cabinet was hidden behind it. Sarah opened the mirror, saw cotton swabs in there and grabbed a few. She began to shut the cabinet then, and as the glass swung closed—

  She saw the reflection of the man standing behind her.

  Sarah opened her mouth to scream, but he grabbed her head and slammed it into the mirror.

  The glass shattered around her.

  “I knew you were going to be trouble, sweetheart . . .”

  “EVE, WE NEED to go.”

  Her fingers slid away from the paintbrush handle. She headed for the balcony, her steps feeling slow. Sluggish. The sky had darkened so much out there. The setting sun was giving way to the night, and angry clouds stretched as far as she could see.

  “It was storming then, too.”

  “Eve?”

  She pushed open the balcony door. Headed out until she reached the railing. The waves were rough, the surf heaving against the shore as the water rose to swallow huge chunks of the beach.

  “I was drowning.” She could still taste that salty water, water that was choking her. “And even that was better than being with him.” The memories were there, struggling so hard to push through.

  Lightning flashed.

  Lightning flashed then, too. The thunder rumbled. The waves were so rough. “So rough,” she said quietly.

  “Are you remembering what happened?”

  I don’t want to remember. “I don’t want to die.”

  Gabe’s fingers curled around her shoulders. He pulled her toward him. Stared down at her with a gaze that gleamed in the growing darkness. “I won’t let that happen.”

  She stared into his gaze, smiled, and told him, “I want to fly.”

  “What?”

  She tilted her head back. Stared into the darkness. “He can’t hurt me when I fly. I want to fly away.”

  She saw the lightning flash across the sky. Thunder cracked right after it, and Gabe was pulling her into the condo. Forcing her back inside.

  It was too bright in there. Far too bright. It had been dark when she died, dark in that murky water that pulled at her and pulled at her. Greedy hands to hold her tight.

  “It’s too bright,” Eve heard herself whisper.

  Then thunder rolled once more and they were plunged into darkness.

  SARAH’S TEN MINUTES were up. “That’s it, Sarah,” Wade said as he shoved open his door. Rain immediately started plummeting down on him. Figured. He hoped Sarah had found whatever she was looking for in that place.

  His phone rang. He grabbed it and saw Dean’s name and face flash on the screen. “You guys safe?” Wade asked him.

  “Victoria and I are at the bridge,” Dean told him, “and we’re about to clear the island. You?”

  “Getting Sarah now,” he said as he leaned forward and peered through his windshield. Only . . . the light in the house up there had gone out. He looked around and realized everything was dark around him. “The power company must have cut the feed.” He’d been warned that would happen.

  “The FBI agents are in the van in front of us,” Dean told him. “The police chief and his men stayed behind to keep folks there safe.”

  Because there would be some who didn’t heed the warnings. There always were.

  He glanced back toward the darkened house. He knew Sarah didn’t like the dark.

  Except it wasn’t dark up there. Not anymore. Light was flickering, he could see it, moving unnaturally. “Fuck, fire!” Wade shouted, and he dropped the phone. He leapt out of the vehicle and ran right through the thin police tape. He ran up the stairs, shoved open the door, and the scent of smoke and flames hit him. “Sarah!”

  She didn’t respond. He ran through the living room, turned to the side—the flames were coming from that room, from Clay’s bedroom. The fire was eating at the walls, rushing around the bed, chasing over the carpet.

  And in the middle of those flames, Sarah lay on the bed. It looked like something wet was on her face. She was sprawled out, eyes closed, not moving. “Sarah!”

  The flames were growing higher around her.

  Locking his jaw, Wade shot forward. He tried to jump over the fire, but it scorched his legs. He didn’t stop to see if Sarah was alive—be alive, be alive!—he just yanked the covers around her, trying to protect her as best he could even as he started coughing because the smoke was so thick. He scooped her into his arms and ran back through the flames. The fire was even hotter and it burned across his right arm. He didn’t cry out, just ran as fucking fast as he could out of that place and back down—

  His car was gone.

  The rain fell on him as he held Sarah in his arms. He hurried down the stairs, being as careful as he could with her, and then put Sarah on the ground.

  Where the hell is the car?

  He pulled the covers away from her face and he realized that blood was on her, dripping down from heavy gashes in her head. “Sarah?” He put his fingers to her pulse. Felt the thready beat. “Who did this to you?”

  Lightning flashed.

  He glanced around. The houses nearby were a
ll pitch-black. They were boarded up, protected against the storm, and the cars were gone. His phone had been in the car that some jerkoff had taken. The same jerkoff who’d torched that house and left it to burn.

  I guess Clay Thompson didn’t go far after all.

  Maybe it was pretty smart of the bastard to ride out the storm in his own house. The cops sure wouldn’t have gone back there. But Sarah had returned there. Sarah . . . who could think like a killer so well.

  It’s in my blood. She’d told him that once, sadly. Shamefully.

  He lifted her into his arms once again. He didn’t know where her phone was, probably back in that burning house, but he’d get her help. He started running with her, holding her tight. He’d get her help.

  THEY ARE MY prey.

  Most people had already left the island. Those who hadn’t were hunkering down, hiding behind their boarded-up windows. Taking shelter until the storm passed.

  He liked the storm. Liked the roar of the waves and the whip of the wind. The storm was the perfect cover for him. No one was watching. He didn’t have to pretend anymore.

  The condominium tower came into view. It was as dark as the rest of the island. He’d made sure the generators wouldn’t work there. He had full access to that place—hell, he had full access to every place on the island. No one ever stopped him. They wouldn’t dare.

  He parked the car. Took his time entering the tower of condominiums. The guard, Rick, had left long ago. So had the others there . . . Tourists always fled first.

  Not Jessica.

  She was there, waiting for him.

  That fool Gabe thought that Jessica would leave. That she would be his. Gabe was wrong.

  Gabe will die.

  So would Jessica. Back in this place, where it had all started for them. Jessica . . . she’d found his video camera, months ago. She’d found it, and she’d started to put the pieces together.

  He’d gone to her. Slipped into her bedroom because he’d wanted to be close to her. She’d woken up and seen him, but she hadn’t screamed.

  I thought that meant she understood.

  Instead, wearing her sweatpants and her T-shirt, she’d risen from the bed. Stared at him. He’d thought her calmness meant that she understood. He’d even begun to smile—

  Then she tried to run away from him. She tried to trick me. So he’d punished her. And then she had screamed.

  He made his way into the stairwell.

  You’ll scream tonight, too, Jessica.

  He pulled out his gun. He usually preferred his knife, and that was certainly what he’d use on Jessica, but for Gabe . . . the gun would work perfectly. After all, he just wanted that bastard out of his way.

  Jessica was the one who would give him pleasure. Her kill was the one he longed for.

  WHEN THE LIGHTS went out, Gabe thought the emergency generator would kick on. The damn thing was supposed to be fixed and ready to generate power automatically, but the darkness kept surrounding them.

  When lightning flashed, he saw Eve . . . standing near the balcony doors, staring out at the storm.

  “I hate it,” she whispered. “I’m responsible. It’s all my fault. Those women, Pauley . . . it’s all on me.”

  The rain was coming down harder. He reached out to her, but Eve flinched away.

  “I saw him. We both realize I did. I know the killer, but I can’t identify him. I blocked him from my mind because I was too scared to face him.”

  “Or because you nearly died.” He pulled her toward him. Screw getting her things. They’d be there when the storm cleared, or hell—he’d just get her new stuff. He’d wanted to shower her with things from the moment he’d seen her walking into that homeless shelter. I will give her anything she wants.

  Eve didn’t fight him when he started leading her back to the condo’s main door. “The elevator won’t be working,” Gabe said, “so we’ll have to take the stairs.”

  He had his phone. He could use the flashlight app to get them out of there, no problem.

  When he shoved the condo door open, he could hear the angry howl of the wind and the crush of the waves against the shore.

  The stairwell was to the left. But he stared out at the island for a moment, aware of the darkness—everywhere.

  Eve’s nails dug into his arm.

  He looked back toward her. Kissed her, because he needed to do it right then. Needed her to know that he was there, they were both safe, and that everything was going to be all right. “I love you,” he told her.

  “Wh-What?”

  He knew he had shit for timing. A tropical storm bearing down on them, a killer on the loose, but he had to tell her. Adrenaline and instinct were pushing him. He wanted Eve to know how he felt, no matter what happened. “I think I started falling for you the minute you walked into my office.”

  “That’s not—you’re just— Why?”

  Why did he love her? “Because you’re strong and brave, and when I look into your eyes I want to do anything and everything within my power to make you happy.” To protect her. The wind kept howling. “Because I look at you and I see a woman who is a fighter. A woman with spirit and passion. A woman I want more than any other.”

  He wished that he could see her expression. Her silence was making him realize—

  She doesn’t love me.

  But then, he’d expected that. “When all of this is over, give me a chance, Eve.” Simple.

  “A chance to do what?”

  “To make you love me.” No, not to make her. Shit, but he was screwing this up. “To show you what we could have.”

  Lightning flashed again.

  He kept his hold on her and drew her toward the stairwell. When he opened the door, the yawning darkness stared back at him. He lifted his phone, pushed the screen so the flashlight app would come on, and—

  A gunshot rang out. The blast hit him in the chest, and as he fell, Gabe heard Eve scream his name.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  THROUGH THE FALLING RAIN, HEADLIGHTS HIT Wade. Bright lights that pierced the darkness and blinded him. He pulled Sarah closer to him, wishing that he had a weapon because who else but their attacker would be coming out in this—

  “Wade!”

  That was Victoria’s voice. And she was jumping out of the passenger side of the car and rushing toward him even as Dean leapt out from the driver’s side.

  Hell, yes.

  “What the hell happened?” Dean demanded as he ran to Wade’s side. His breath hissed out when he saw— “Sarah?”

  “She’s hurt, but she’s gonna make it.” But if he hadn’t gotten her out of that house, Sarah would be dead. Another victim of the Lady Killer? “Get on your phone,” he told Dean. “Gabe needs to know that Clay Thompson is still on the island. The bastard might be coming for him and Eve.”

  Dean yanked out his phone as they all hurried back to the SUV. Carefully, so carefully, Wade put Sarah in the backseat of the vehicle.

  “She needs a hospital,” Victoria whispered. Then . . . “Wade, your arm!” The car’s interior light glared down on them.

  He glanced at it. The thing had been hurting like a bitch, but he didn’t have time to deal with the burns.

  “He’s not answering,” Dean said, a worried edge in his voice.

  “The cell signal on the island is always hit and miss,” Victoria said. “With the storm, maybe the call just didn’t go through.”

  Wade yanked his door closed behind him. “Get me to those condominiums.”

  In about two seconds Dean had the SUV spinning into reverse.

  Sarah moaned and her eyelashes flickered.

  “It’s okay,” he hurried to soothe her, stroking her shoulder lightly. “You’re out . . . you’re safe . . .”

  The SUV splashed through the rising water.

  “Drop me off,” Wade said as he kept stroking Sarah’s shoulder, “and get Sarah to a hospital. Get her off the island! I don’t want Clay taking another shot at her—”

  �
��N-Not . . .”

  What was Sarah trying to tell him?

  “N-Not . . .” she said once more, the word a bare breath that he had to strain to hear. “C-Clay . . .”

  “GABE!” EVE GRABBED for him as he fell. His phone crashed into the stairs, splintering, and its flashlight went out, plunging them back into darkness. She touched his chest. Felt the wet warmth of his blood. “Gabe, no! Please!”

  His hand flew up. Locked around her wrist. “R-Run . . .”

  “I’m not leaving you. I’m not—”

  “Jessica . . .”

  She screamed. That low, rasping voice was coming from the darkness of the stairwell, and it was the same voice that haunted her dreams. No, her nightmares.

  “R-Run,” Gabe ordered again.

  If she ran, he was dead. The bastard hadn’t shot again, but he would . . . he would. Eve knew it with utter certainty.

  “Stay away!” Eve yelled into the darkness, but the stairwell just sent her own voice echoing back to her.

  “Let’s play, sweetheart . . . do you remember the game?”

  And images flashed through her mind. Dozens of them, one right after the other.

  The long blade of a knife . . .

  Sand surrounding her, burying her.

  Seagulls flying over her head.

  Waves turning red with her blood.

  Dying . . . dying . . .

  “Run, Eve,” Gabe begged. “Please . . .”

  He was going to die. If she left him . . .

  Eve rose to her feet. She didn’t back away and try to get out of the stairwell, though. That bastard in the dark was talking, rasping about his game . . . and how they would—

  “Let’s play again, Jessica.”

  “Play with your own fucking self!” she shouted and then launched herself straight into the darkness. Straight at him. A gunshot blasted again, but it missed her, and she collided with him. Then they were falling. Spinning, twisting, and tumbling over the stairs. Pain snapped in her knee, in her shoulder, and her hip when she crashed into—the landing?

  She was on top of him. She couldn’t see a thing about him and leapt back into the darkness. “You want to play a game?” she threw at him. Keep him away from Gabe. Keep him away. “How about hide and seek? Come find me, bastard.”