by Cynthia Eden
Silence.
“Nothing like this has ever happened before.” The doctor’s words were very quiet. “An escape like this—of someone of Forrest’s fame—it will ruin us. My facility is needed. Not just for the patients that the court sends to us . . . but we help the poor, the destitute. We give them treatment.” Her eyes were bright with emotion. “We are needed.”
“Trust me, I get that.” And he did. “But what you need to get is this . . . Forrest Hutchins killed five men. Now he’s gone, with at least a two-week head start. What in the hell do you think will happen to anyone unfortunate enough to be in the guy’s path?” Cash asked her.
The doctor didn’t reply.
“We want full access to your facility.” Cash rubbed his jaw. “And I’ll be interviewing all of your staff members. People don’t just vanish, not without a trace. Someone always sees something. Someone knows something. We just have to pose the right questions to the right people.” And he intended to keep asking those questions until he got answers.
“Dr. Summers?” A woman with blond hair stood in the doorway. Her blue eyes danced nervously around the room. “You have a call. It’s the governor.” Her voice cracked a bit on that last part.
Dr. Summers winced.
“You take that call, Dr. Summers,” Cash told her. “We’ll start our search.”
She hurried away.
The blonde woman lingered a moment.
Ana crept closer to Cash. “The chatty receptionist,” she whispered to him, then she hurried toward the younger woman. “I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name before.” She offered her hand to the blonde.
“Megan. Megan Thomas.” The blonde quickly shook Ana’s hand, then backed away.
“Thanks for your assistance before, Megan,” Ana said smoothly. “And if you happen to know anything about Forrest Hutchins that you think can help Agent Knox and me . . .” She let the sentence trail away.
And Cash caught the faint flicker of Megan’s eyelashes.
“Is there something that you’d like to tell us?” Ana asked.
“He seemed . . . kind to me.”
Now that was a surprise. “Excuse me?”
“I assist Dr. Summers sometimes.” Megan toyed with a lock of her hair. “I’m working on a graduate degree in counseling, so she lets me assist her. I saw her working with Forrest. After all the stories, I expected him to be a monster.”
He is a monster.
“But he was always nice to me. Soft spoken with all the guards.” Her gaze fell to the floor. “It was hard for me to see him as a killer.”
Cash advanced toward the blonde. “Tell that to the five men he murdered.”
Megan staggered back a step. “He . . . he was only agitated when Dr. Summers was around.”
Agitated? Cash thought that was a nice word to describe a rage that had resulted in a camera being smashed to hell and back. “Any idea why he responded so strongly to her?”
Megan’s lashes lifted. “He said he didn’t like being her experiment.” She started to say more, then shook her head. “I have to get back to my post. My relief cover can only stay a short time.” Then she turned on her heel and strode away.
Ana stared after the blonde a moment, then she glanced over at Cash. “An experiment, huh?” she mused. “So the guy could dish out the punishment, but not take it.”
“Seems that way.” His stare swept over the room once more. “There’s nothing to see here.”
“Yes, well, because unlike our not-so-friendly prison warden, Dr. Summers cleaned up.” She waved her hand. “No personal effects in here, though I’m thinking there never were any.”
No, he didn’t think so, either.
“How would he have gotten out of this place?” Ana asked, her lips tightening. “I saw the security outside the facility. A guard was on constant patrol. And just to get back here to the quiet room, we had to go through three different checkpoints. Someone should have seen the guy.”
“Bernie had help vanishing,” Cash reminded her. “Maybe Forrest did, too.” Only with the layout of this facility, he was wondering . . .
Had the guy gotten inside help?
Forrest Hutchins was a blond, blue-eyed man. Most news reports had even called the bastard “Hollywood handsome.” He’d been a charmer. Smart, cold. Sadistic. Rich.
“Megan liked him,” Ana murmured. “Maybe she wasn’t the only one who had a soft spot for this particular killer.”
Maybe. Megan’s words had already set off alarm bells in Cash’s head. He’d be investigating that woman—hell, yes. A woman like her, with such open access to the facility . . . she’d make a perfect accomplice. If Forrest had left on his own. If.
“Let’s start searching,” Cash said, rolling back his shoulders. “It’s a big facility, and we’ve got four floors to cover.”
And dozens of staff members to interview.
It was going to be a fucking long day.
Ana Young was interesting.
A victim, but not broken. Not trapped in the pain of her past.
She’d been tortured, nearly killed. Humiliated. Degraded.
And the men who’d taken her had been murdered. Sliced apart with brutal efficiency. Their deaths were cloaked in mystery. Suspicions. Had Ana been the one to kill them? Her brother had claimed he’d done the work, but . . .
But Ana’s eyes were the eyes of a killer.
She’d become a hunter. A bounty hunter. She’d tracked down the worst scum in the United States. She’d never backed down from a case. She’d deliberately sought out the most twisted prey.
Not a victim, not anymore.
Now she worked for LOST. How intriguing. The Last Option Search Team was still fairly new, but most people had heard the news stories about them. They found the missing. They didn’t give up hope.
How noble.
How . . .
Sad.
Sometimes, you have to give up hope. The victims die. They never come home. The families are left in wreckage. And the bad guys . . .
They don’t get the punishment they deserve.
Did Ana understand that truth? It would seem that she did. It would seem that she certainly understood that sometimes, the only way to give justice was to go Old Testament.
An eye for an eye.
A life for a life.
Did Ana understand? Perhaps it was time to find out . . .
The gravel crunched beneath Ana’s feet. She turned to stare up at River View Psychiatric Hospital, shielding her eyes from the glare of the setting sun. “How in the hell did you get out of here?” she asked.
But, of course, there was no answer. It wasn’t as if Forrest Hutchins was going to appear and tell her how he’d slipped away.
Her gaze slid over the building. Guards. Cameras. Isolated location, nestled deep in the Blue Ridge Mountains.
River View Psychiatric was a historic facility. She’d done Internet research on the place during her trip over. A massive, nine-thousand-square-foot facility, it had once been a home for orphaned girls in the early 1950s. Later, it had been a veterans’ hospital before finally being transformed into a psychiatric facility a few years ago.
The place wasn’t the easiest to access. And she just wasn’t getting how Forrest could have slipped out on his own. Someone must have helped you.
A partner . . . one who’d turned on Forrest the same way that Bernie’s mystery friend had? Was she searching frantically for a man who was already dead? Two weeks . . . Forrest had been gone so long. Bernie hadn’t made it twenty-four hours, much less two whole weeks.
Her focus shifted to the left. The place was called River View for a reason—the Langmire River stretched for miles, sweeping away from the facility and heading toward the small town of Langmire, Virginia, about forty miles away. If the guy was a good swimmer, if, then maybe he could have escaped that way. But those rapids there were a beast, and he’d seriously need to be nearly Olympic caliber to handle a swim like that.
If we don
’t find him soon, I bet Cash will start a search in the water. Because maybe the guy’s body washed away.
She stared at that river for a moment. Life was sure strange. She’d been reading about Langmire just days before . . . the missing person’s case that had gripped her attention—little Cathy Wise—she’d vanished from Langmire.
And now I’m here. Back on her old turf.
But she wasn’t there to find Cathy, not yet.
Gravel crunched—not from her steps this time—but from his. Her gaze cut back toward the prison entrance, and she saw Cash striding toward her. His face was hard, tense, pretty much just as it had been when she first arrived. But at least he didn’t kick my ass out. I’m working with him. That’s a start.
Because there was something about this case . . .
Her phone rang, vibrating in her pocket. At the sound of that ringtone, Ana tensed.
She knew that Cash had heard the ring because his steps quickened.
Ana lifted her hand. She put the phone to her ear. “Asher, this isn’t really a good time for me.”
Cash stilled. Yeah, it’s my brother. Not the killer we are after.
“You left town without telling me, Ana,” Asher snapped. “That shit is not cool.”
“Yes, well, since you’re my brother, not my keeper, I figured I was good.” Asher never tried to tell her what to do—because he knew she’d tell him to stick those orders right back up his ass. He was overprotective, sure, but—
“Is he with you?”
“He?” Ana asked carefully, her gaze on Cash.
“Agent Knox,” Asher gritted out.
Talking to him about Cash was a mistake. “Gabe told you I’m pursuing this case.”
“Gabe told me he gave you the jet and you hauled ass to get up to Virginia.” Worry thickened his voice. “Another killer has gone missing, and you’re trying to find him.”
“I told you,” Ana said clearly, “that I didn’t feel like the case was over. I couldn’t just leave it.”
“You went back to Knox.”
Why did he keep harping on that? On Cash?
“Ana, be careful with him.”
Cash was staring straight at her.
“Asher, I love you, but I’ve got this. Trust me.” Then she hung up the phone, aware of a slight sting in her cheeks. She didn’t know what Asher’s deal was. The guy could be an overprotective pain but . . .
This had been different.
He’d been different.
“Problem?” Cash asked her quietly.
“Nothing I can’t handle.” That was the absolute truth. If she hadn’t been aware of her audience, she would have ripped right into her brother.
“Asher.” He repeated the name and gave a little nod. “That’s your brother, right?”
She turned away from him and headed toward her rental car. “I guess everyone knows our story.” Asher and Ana. The tortured twins. Tormented. Terrified.
Only . . .
She stopped at her car, her fingers pressed to the driver’s side door. “The news stories all made me the victim. The girl with all the slices, all the stab wounds. Poor little Ana Young.”
Once more, the gravel crunched. She saw his reflection appear in her window. He stood right behind her, his face tense. “Are you saying the stories are wrong?”
“The press turned my brother into a killer. All he did was save me. He wasn’t a killer. He was a hero.” His screams still haunted her. She shook her head. “Forget it. We aren’t here to drag up my past.” She turned and found that he was close enough to touch. But she didn’t touch him because maybe . . . maybe it was too dangerous when they touched.
Maybe I want him too much when we touch. And she’d been the one to set up the rules.
She’d also been the one to race back to his side.
So I have issues. Lots of them. No big surprise.
Ana licked her upper lip. “How do you think Forrest got out? Maybe he bribed a guard? Or the cute blonde receptionist-slash-counselor got a little too friendly with him—”
“His family certainly has enough money to pay for guards to look the other way.” He leaned forward, propping his hand on the car behind her, caging Ana with his body. “After all, it was their money that got him in this place instead of in a prison cell.”
Her eyes widened. “You’re saying his parents bribed—”
“I’m saying money talks, even though most people don’t want to admit that.”
His scent was around her. Strong, woodsy. Sexy.
“I’ve got my team tearing through his family’s financials and the financials of the employees here. If someone got a payoff recently, we’ll know.”
“You think it was an inside job.”
“No.”
She blinked, surprised.
“I don’t think his family got Forrest out of here. I don’t think they bribed some guard to help him. I don’t even think Megan Thomas was seduced by him and agreed to help the guy with an escape.”
He sounded so very certain.
“I don’t believe,” Cash continued darkly, “that Forrest Hutchins is relaxing on some deserted island right now. But I have to check all the options. I have to be very, very thorough.”
A shiver slid over Ana. “What do you think happened?”
His head inclined toward her. “You’re the one who came rushing up here, Ana. You’re the one who said that she understood monsters. What do you think happened to Forrest Hutchins?”
The drumming of her heartbeat suddenly seemed very loud as it echoed in her ears.
“Come on, Ana. You came all this way—rushed up here for one reason—and we both know it.” His gaze held hers.
“I think Forrest is the victim.” She barely breathed the words. “I don’t think there was ever any grand escape attempt. I think he was taken from here, I just don’t know how. I think he’s just like Bernie. I think payback is coming and—”
And her phone was ringing again. But this time, the ringtone was different. Not the familiar hard rock beat that she’d assigned to her brother.
Cash tensed.
She fumbled and lifted her phone. “Hello?”
“You aren’t in Atlanta.” The robotic voice blasted in her ear. “Don’t you have a job to do, Ana Young?”
She lowered the phone a few precious inches and swiped her finger over the screen, turning on the speaker so that Cash could hear the caller.
“I’m doing my job,” Ana said curtly. “I’m not calling some stranger and hiding behind a fake voice so I can—”
“You aren’t a stranger to me. I know you so well. Inside and out.”
Cash’s eyes blazed.
“Forrest Hutchins isn’t worth your time. He’s not lost.”
“Did you do something to him?”
Laughter came then, so high and sharp with that robotic distortion that Ana flinched. “Didn’t do a thing. He did it to himself.”
Cash swore.
And silence beat on the phone.
Frantically, Ana shook her head at Cash. Don’t make another sound. She mouthed her words to him, but it was too late.
His curse had been picked up by the caller.
“Ana, you’re with the FBI agent, aren’t you?” The robotic voice questioned. Before she could speak, the caller said, “You can’t trust him. Don’t make that mistake.”
What?
Cash pulled the phone from her fingers. “This is Agent Cash Knox—”
“I know who you are. Ana doesn’t.”
Fury flashed on Cash’s face. “Did you have anything to do with the escape of Forrest Hutchins?”
“He didn’t escape anything. Not this time. Justice came for him. Just as it will come for the others.”
Her thundering heartbeat shook Ana’s chest.
“Who the hell is this?” Cash demanded.
But the line had gone dead.
Chapter Seven
“The FBI couldn’t track the call.” Cash hated delivering t
hat bit of news. “The guy is good, Ana. I’ll give the bastard that much.”
They’d traveled to Langmire and were currently in Cash’s motel room. The motel’s parking lot had been filled with big rigs when they pulled up. Langmire wasn’t any kind of vacation spot. The town was a tiny little dot on the map, one that time seemed to have forgotten. The main strip consisted of a diner, a bar, and a gas station. The only people who stopped at the motel were the ones who had to pull off the road for the night.
Another broken-down motel.
Another case that wasn’t going to end well.
“Is this the part where you try to shove me on a plane again?” Ana asked curiously. “You know, for my own good and all of that.”
“Ana, the bastard is calling you.”
“That’s right. He is. That means he wants contact, and we can use that contact. You and your FBI buddies are monitoring my calls—”
“But this joker knows what the fuck he is doing—he had his signal pinging all over the damn eastern half of the U.S. The guy is smart. And smart criminals are the most dangerous ones out there.”
She sat on the edge of his bed, her dark gaze solemn. “I don’t think he wants to hurt me.”
“He’s calling—”
“I think he believes I understand him.” A faint line appeared between her brows. “You know, I get that the FBI has plenty of its own profilers on hand, but I really think we need to bring in Sarah Jacobs.”
Cash had been pacing in that small room, but at her words, he stopped.
“Ah,” Ana murmured. “I see you’ve heard of Sarah.”
He’d actually worked with her before, back in the days before she’d joined LOST. Sarah Jacobs was a force to be reckoned with when it came to the criminal mind. LOST’s star profiler had made headlines just a few months before . . .
“Her father is a serial killer,” Cash said, aware that his words were stilted. “How do you . . . it doesn’t make you nervous, Ana? Working with her? Knowing that she’s . . .” But he stopped because he wasn’t sure what to say.