The Deadly Series Boxed Set

by Jaycee Clark

  She smiled at her reflection in the mirror as she held up a black dress. The tension Estella caused ceased to exist once she’d left Brayden’s room. He had a way of working all the stress away, of working all the kinks out.

  No, this dress would never work.

  She tossed it on the bed and reached for another one, her hand stilling. A chill danced up her spine and she whirled around, half expecting to see someone behind her, but there was no one there.

  Nerves. Just her nerves.

  There, in front, was the dress Brayden bought her in Italy. Why not just wear the blue one? It was appropriate and it was her favorite. Yeah, she’d wear that one.

  She pulled it out and hung it on the bathroom door. Hopefully, some of the wrinkles would work themselves out. Reaching into the shower, she turned on the hot water.

  Steam filled the stall. She checked to make certain her robe was on the hook by the shower stall door. The hot steam filled the bathroom. Good, she hated to get out of a hot shower to a cold bathroom.

  She quickly undressed and stepped into the shower, adjusting the temperature of the water, but still she liked it very hot.

  Her sigh carried tensions with it. Soon, it would all be over soon. Then she and Brayden could get married. And as soon as they had Richard in custody, she was calling her grandparents. Or better yet, she’d go see them.

  She slicked the water back from her face and thought she heard something.

  “Brayden?”

  No answer.

  A shiver danced down her spine. They still hadn’t found Richard. One reason she was getting dressed so early tonight was so that the police could wire her, just in case he showed up, which they seemed to think he would.

  Just a whisper of a sound.

  “Brayden?” She leaned out the stall door and looked around—nothing.

  She was being paranoid. There were more cops downstairs than the local Seneca P.D. employed.

  “Idiot,” she muttered to herself.

  Shutting the shower door, she let the hot steam and water clear her head.

  Chapter 24

  Richard listened to the water rushing in the shower. He could picture the liquid sluicing over her luscious body.

  It had been so simple.

  Cat and mouse. He did love this game.

  The police were all over the county and D.C. area; they’d given a joke of a search to the house.

  No one looked in the most obvious of places.

  He heard the policewoman open Josephine’s door earlier that day, and he’d been so far back in her closet, hidden behind the evening gowns, that no one saw him.

  So easy.

  Again, help was so close, yet unattainable.

  He waited until he knew she was in the shower before moving from his hiding place. He’d locked the bedroom door and slipped quickly and quietly into the bathroom.

  And she’d called out Kinncaid’s name. If he could, he was going to kill that bastard for daring to touch what was his. For turning Josephine against him.

  But his first priority was getting Josephine out of the house, taking her away and reminding her of her place with him.

  She was humming a song.

  What was it?

  Pachelbel’s Canon.

  A wedding song that. Why was she humming a . . .

  No.

  No.

  Josephine was his. He fisted his hands, the blood pounding in his head.

  Coming from behind the wall to the right of the shower, he decided to have fun with her first.

  Richard leaned over and wrote a message in the mirror.

  She would never be anyone else’s.

  • • •

  Brayden stood downstairs with his brothers, though where Gavin was he didn’t have a clue. He, Quinlan and Aiden were talking to the new bodyguard. The security agency, since this was an emergency situation, sent two bodyguards in rotations.

  The first one was John. That was it. John. The man had reminded him of his brother, quick assessing glances and controlled energy. And he was the same man that had guarded Jesslyn two summers ago in Colorado.

  Whereas John reminded Brayden of Ian, the new replacement, Sean . . . Well, Sean was Ian.

  At least Brayden suspected he was. Sean was the right height with pale, icy blue eyes, a bald head and a bladed nose. He’d done something to his jawline, or had he?

  Brayden had seen the man in so many different guises it was hard to remember exactly what was real and what wasn’t.

  Lieutenant Morris walked up.

  “Hello, gentlemen.”

  “Morris,” Brayden answered. “I’d like you to meet the bodyguard we’ve hired. He works out of a security agency.”

  “I called them last night and they sent someone early this morning,” Aiden supplied.

  “I was worried about Tori being here alone and everything.”

  Morris nodded and looked around the room. “Good idea. What agency is that with, Mr. . . . ?”

  “Sean, just Sean. We’re with Banockburn Security. A new agency. Some retired government agent set up the service. Or so rumor goes.”

  Morris looked him over. “You have a card?”

  Sean smiled, a dimple appearing in his cheek. Amazing. Ian didn’t have a dimple. Creepy. Downright creepy. He handed over a card and Morris pocketed it.

  “Where’s Christian? We need to go over a few things, and Emma wants to get her wired,” Morris said.

  Brayden nodded up the stairs. “She’s getting ready.”

  Morris nodded and moved off through the crowd to the nearest waiter—who was actually a cop.

  “This, boys, will be fun.” Sean slapped him on the back, then straightened as their parents made their way over to them.

  Damn.

  • • •

  Christian turned off the water and opened the shower door. She probably needed to hurry.

  The wall was smooth as she reached for her robe.

  It wasn’t there.

  She grabbed the towel off the shower door and wrapped it around her hair, picking up her robe. Must have been what she heard. She knotted the belt and tightened the towel on her head, securing and tucking the ends under at her nape.

  Her engagement ring caught her eye and she smiled. Brayden. She’d wear the pendant tonight too, and the charm bracelet. He would like that.

  Everything was finally falling into place.

  If they could only find Richard.

  She looked up, intending to wipe the mirror. Her heart froze.

  MINE slashed across the fogged glass.

  Oh, my God. Oh, my God.

  She spun around.

  Richard stood behind her, dressed in black.

  She opened her mouth to scream, but he struck out, his hand snapping across her throat so that she coughed as pain gripped her. Then he grabbed her, his fingers tightening, cutting off her oxygen.

  Christian gasped, stumbled, as the momentum slammed her into the shower door. It flew back, hitting the towel rack, and shattered. Glass tinkled around her, down the back of her robe.

  “Josephine. Josephine.” Richard sighed.

  God, her throat. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t swallow.

  “You’ve been a very, very bad girl,” he calmly stated.

  She clawed at his hand, at his arm. God, she couldn’t breathe. Pain burned in her throat as she gasped for breath. He was going to kill her.

  She raked her nails down his face and he lifted her higher, up onto her toes.

  Spots danced before her eyes. Richard dropped her and she gasped for air, her hand flying to her throat. Gasp. Wheeze. Gasp. Wheeze.

  Not now. Not now. Not that an inhaler would do her a bit of good. Think. She had to think. Glass bit into her knee and palm.

  She opened her mouth to scream and nothing came out.

  Richard’s smile iced her blood. “You made me angry, Josephine. I could have crushed your windpipe. That would be a tragedy, considering the gift you have. I expect your
larynx is bruised.” He squatted beside her. “The larynx is an interesting thing. Hit hard enough, no sound comes out. And what does is basically unheard.” He laughed. “Don’t worry though, in a few days your voice will be as good as new. And you can sing for me.”

  “Go to hell,” she rasped out.

  His eyes narrowed on her as she tried to stand. She backed up and winced, slicing her foot on a piece of glass.

  “You do look wonderful.” Those pale green eyes roved over her and he smiled. “Something about you wet always turned me on, all those little droplets of water.”

  Terror clawed at the back of her mind.

  Gasp. Wheeze.

  God, she hated this man. She looked at him, deep into his eyes, and hoped he saw how much she loathed him. “You are nothing but a pathetic coward.”

  A flicker in his eyes warned her just before he lunged. She dove to the side, slamming into the vanity.

  She reached for the door, threw the lock as she screamed. But the sound was muted, garbled and lost.

  He grabbed her robe, jerked back, and spun her around.

  Christian fought. Kicked, clawed, hit. Skin gave way under her nails.

  “You bitch.”

  He hit her, hard enough she stumbled again, tearing out a vanity drawer. Objects scattered and bounced all over the plush rug.

  “I had hoped we could do this the easy way.”

  He was on her, straddling her. Just like before. Just like before. Time stopped. Terror exploded inside her, reverberating down her spine, freezing her of all thought, of all action. Her mind screamed for her to do something. Something inside her shattered.

  Never again.

  Never again!

  She bucked, twisted, and fought, but pinned as she was, there was little she could do.

  “I hate you,” she bit out, no more than a soft whisper.

  He only smiled, thin and straight as a dagger. The fire in his eyes burned with an unholy intent.

  “I’ll ask a question and all you have to say is yes or no. Or rather,” he said, reaching behind him, “just nod or shake your head. I’d hate for you to strain your voice.” His switchblade hissed open.

  The blade winked in the lights, wicked sharp.

  “Now, Josephine. Is that a ring I see on your finger? An engagement ring?” His knee was on her left wrist, his hand holding her right one down.

  “Is it?” he asked, his breath hot against her face.

  What was he going to do? Did it matter? She couldn’t, wouldn’t bow to him ever again. Besides, she wanted the satisfaction of him knowing she belonged to someone else. Looking straight into his eyes, she smiled. “You’re damn right it is.”

  He tsked and stabbed the blade into her shoulder.

  She screamed, a garbled, high whispered sound. Christ.

  The pain blinded her. Oh, God. She bucked and twisted, tears leaking out. He jerked the blade free and blood flowed. She felt the slide of it as it soaked her robe. Bile rose in the back of her throat and the lights dimmed and tilted.

  She looked at the wound, the red was growing.

  “Let’s try this again, shall we?” Richard asked. “You know my rules. I don’t share.”

  He’d released her left hand. God, her arm hurt.

  The room spun and all she saw was the red spreading over the blue silk of her robe.

  The objects eye level with her drew her attention. Makeup tubes, combs, brushes, odds and ends. A cord. She followed it up. Her curling iron balanced on the edge of her vanity. Had she plugged it in?

  “Are you going to marry him?” Richard asked. “Do you think I’ll let you?”

  The light winked off of silver on her floor. Shears. Antique barber shears. Sharp blades. If she could just . . .

  Slowly she inched her hand along the carpet.

  “Josephine,” Richard practically whined. “Why can’t you love me? Why? I want you to say my name, whisper it, like you do his.”

  She looked at the shears. No, a distraction, first. The curling iron.

  • • •

  Ian watched and waited. He needed to get upstairs and check things out.

  “Sean, do you like what you do? How long have you been a bodyguard?” Jock asked him.

  It was amusing to him that his own parents didn’t recognize him. He didn’t expect them to and was glad that they didn’t.

  “Several years, sir,” he answered.

  “I guess you stay busy then, huh?”

  Ian nodded. He watched as Brayden headed up the stairs to get ready. Brayden was going to shower and then bring Christian down to get her wired.

  “Honey, leave the man alone, I’m sure he has things to check,” Kaitlyn said, coming up and smiling slightly at him.

  She tilted her head to the side. “I could swear I know you, but I guess not.”

  He smiled.

  “I thought the same thing,” Jock muttered. “In fact you remind me of . . . Well, never mind.”

  Sometimes he missed home. At least this trip he’d actually managed to come back here, to this house. It had been years since he’d been here. The last time was when his father disowned him. Call it perversion, but he liked the idea that his father was now shaking his hand and welcoming him into the house as a bodyguard.

  But that’s what he did.

  So that is what he would do.

  The spatter of a police radio whispered across the room. The server in the back. They needed to work on the volume a bit. ’Course, considering police department budgets, they didn’t have the equipment he did.

  He turned and walked out of the room. Time to run a search. He could feel it. Things were drawing to a close. First, he’d scan the downstairs, then the upstairs.

  • • •

  “Do you love him?”

  It would be smarter to say no. Say no. But she couldn’t. Never again would she bow to him, no matter what.

  She licked her lips.

  Lie. Lie. Lie.

  She nodded. The words scratched her throat. “He’s a real man. Why wouldn’t I?”

  The blade came down again, embedding to the hilt. She felt the skin on the back of her shoulder break. Again he jerked the blade free and she felt the blood flow.

  God Almighty! A wave of dizziness washed through her, and she fought not to throw up, sobbing at the pain.

  “No, you are not,” Richard hissed. “No one will have you but me.”

  Christian looked up at him as he lowered his mouth to hers. When he was almost there, she reached out, moaning at the pain in her arm, stretching for the cord.

  Before he turned, she spit in his face.

  There. She jerked. The iron landed with a clatter. She picked up the black end.

  “You shouldn’t have done that,” Richard said, wiping the spittle off.

  She slammed the iron up with all her might, holding the heated metal against his forehead.

  He cursed and leapt up from her.

  Christian rolled and grabbed the shears, her arm hanging at her side, blood dripping off her fingers.

  Richard yanked on her hair. “Stupid bitch. I would have given you everything, everything. You’re nothing, nothing now.”

  She turned and shoved the scissors up to his groin, but he met her move and twisted. The blades slid into the flesh by his hip bone.

  Still he yelled and struck out at her. Her head hit the wall, glass bit into her palms. The world rang in her ears.

  Hurry. She pulled herself up, listening as he moaned, pulling the shears free. Her blood smeared along the wall.

  She jerked the door open and stumbled through her room.

  “Help! Help!” she screamed. Nothing but a strangled whisper.

  God, where was everyone?

  At her door, she twisted the knob. Blood slicked her hands, but she unlocked it, throwing the door open. He was coming. She could hear him.

  The hallway spun and tilted. Not now. She was not giving up now.

  She staggered through the doorway, just as he
stumbled through after her.

  His hand slammed down on her shoulder and the pain brought her to her knees, sending her into a little side table. It wobbled, tilted, and sent the dainty china figurine crashing to the floor.

  An arm locked around her throat and pulled her up; something stung down her arm twice as he stumbled.

  The world grayed. Blood dripped from her fingers.

  Someone screamed.

  • • •

  Brayden heard Tori screaming. He threw his shirt aside and tore out the door.

  The sight that met him halted him in his tracks.

  The bastard held Christian. Blood covered an entire side of her robe, trailed from her fingers.

  Mother of God.

  He saw men racing up the staircase.

  “Shut her up. Shut her up!” Richard yelled.

  Brayden picked Tori up and shushed her. “It’s okay, sweetie. It’ll be fine.” Someone came up behind him and he turned.

  Emma Laurence. “Take your daughter out of here.”

  “Not a chance.” He shoved Tori into the woman’s arms.

  “Congressman, calm down. No one needs to get hurt,” Morris tried, his gun held at his side.

  Brayden edged closer; chills raced over him at the sight of Christian bleeding. Richard spun from the men in front of him on the staircase, to Brayden standing behind him.

  When Richard stopped and looked at him, he could see the intent in the man’s eyes. Evil as the devil’s heart, and cold as a grave.

  “We had a little disagreement.”

  He heard Christian wheezing.

  “Want to know what it was over?” Richard asked.

  Brayden looked at Christian’s ashen complexion. How much blood had she lost? He noticed blood stained the front of Richard’s pants.

  “Do you!” Richard yelled.

  Brayden licked his lips. “If you want to tell me.”

  The bastard leaned over and nuzzled Christian’s ear. “Do you want to tell him, Josephine, or should I?”

  His laugh slithered across the hallway. “Oh, I forgot. She can’t talk, not really. She’s been a naughty girl. So I took care of that problem.”

  What the fuck did that mean?