by Maya Banks
They stared at each other several long seconds, his thoughts formulating in meticulous fashion as he quickly assimilated all the pieces of the puzzle. His gut clenched, puzzling him, and he played it off as natural concern for any woman as courageous as Eliza.
But was she even planning to come back? Because she was definitely running, and if she was to be believed, the fear that had glittered in her eyes in those brief, unguarded moments wasn’t for herself.
Realization made him swear violently. No, she wasn’t afraid for herself. She was deathly afraid of anyone close to her being harmed and that pissed him the hell off.
She must have sensed his blinding rage and the fact he was about to punch right through her windshield to prevent her leaving because her expression became pleading, another jolt to his system, because his Eliza didn’t beg for anything.
“Please, Wade. Just go. I have to get as far away from here and the people I care about before it’s too late. I’m running out of time. If I don’t leave soon enough, he’ll find me and he’ll kill every single person I love, care about, did something nice for or even just smiled at.”
Wade was a writhing mass of fury and confusion because he had been one hundred percent right in his conclusion as to why she was leaving as fast as possible. He wanted answers and he wanted them now, but most of all, he wanted to know who the fuck had put such terror and panic into this fierce woman, and why she was so certain this asshole would find her and kill everyone of importance to her. Did she have so little confidence in the people she worked with? The people she trusted with her life? Or was this every bit as bad as his gut was screaming it was.
Because with the arsenal of weapons she was packing, she had no intention of simply going into hiding and luring whatever psychopath away from the people she cared about. She was going hunting and not the recreational kind.
She sent him one last determined look, or perhaps it was a warning, because he suddenly found himself on her concrete drive as she hit reverse, screeching into the street. He barely had time to lift his head before he saw her taillights fade into the distance.
He should have been pissed. He should be wiping his hands of the entire situation he’d unwillingly been dragged into. And he damn sure never fucking took orders—however politely formed as requests—from anyone. Especially Dane Elliot.
But he wasn’t any of those things. A peculiar sensation fluttered through his chest and settled like a sinking stone in his gut. He closed and reopened his eyes in rapid succession but nothing he did could rid himself of the utter despair in Eliza’s face.
Not many things scared Wade. If pressed, it was doubtful he could even come up with one. But seeing Eliza tonight and the desperation fueling her actions and emotions?
Scared the fuck out of him.
EIGHT
ELIZA wrapped the thin jacket more firmly around her, hugging her arms in an unconscious gesture of protection as a shiver worked its way up her spine. She stared woodenly at the redbrick courthouse with quaint white columns that had been repainted in recent years.
She could feel the malevolent stares from passersby, those who’d lived here years ago when their quiet, peaceful town had been thrust into the national spotlight, but then Eliza had made certain she was seen upon her arrival. It hadn’t been easy. God, it had been so hard to walk the sidewalks, revisiting her old stomping grounds and even venturing into the diner she used to work in for breakfast, making certain to take her time so as many people as possible saw her and word spread like wildfire.
Barney still owned and operated the diner and he’d stood to the side of the woman at the counter where orders were placed, beefy arms crossed firmly over his chest and glaring openly at Eliza, his distaste written all over his face, his expression one of having tasted or smelled something foul.
Ever since leaving the diner and wandering aimlessly through the town’s center, the stares had increased as more people than normal were out and about. Whispers abounded. Pointed stares. Some didn’t even try to disguise their disgust and had hurled insults loud enough to be heard for three blocks.
Inwardly she’d winced, each barb finding its target with pinpoint accuracy, but she’d be damned if she ever let anyone see her weak and vulnerable. She’d donned a cool, unaffected, even bored expression as though she were just passing her time until . . .
She shuddered, revolted by the mere thought that she’d purposely set out to make these people think that she was here because Thomas would be released in mere days. That she couldn’t stay away. That she was still firmly under his spell. It was an act, but it hadn’t always been and that was what hurt the most.
She’d sworn to leave this place and never return. She’d walked out of the courthouse relieved, yet so full of shame, shoving her way through the crowd of reporters, refusing to say a single word. Not even “no comment.” What was there to say? She’d already aired her sins in front of God, judge and jury and she wasn’t rehashing it again. Ever.
Except by a cruel twist of fate—No. Fate couldn’t be blamed. The blame lay solely at Thomas’s feet. He’d engineered his release. But whatever the case, that long ago vow of putting Thomas, this town, everything behind her and never rehashing it, had been shattered and now she stood in the middle of town in front of the courthouse, long-suppressed images surfacing with vicious clarity.
That day she’d carried only a duffel bag containing everything she owned, what little money she possessed shoved into her pocket. She’d walked and she’d kept walking, never once looking back. Not at the diner where it had all begun. Not when she’d wearily passed the city limit sign. She’d only looked forward, no definitive destination in mind. Her only goal had been to get as far away as possible, as quickly as possible and try like hell to put everything that town represented behind her. Try to forget. And to forgive . . . herself. She’d been unable to do either. Especially now.
She’d walked for days, the days fading to night and then slowly bleeding to light once more. Despite her efforts to blank her mind and shut out the recitation of the atrocities Thomas had committed, it had sounded as if the jury foreman had screamed the sentence for every single crime, each one more horrifying than the last. She still heard that voice in her nightmares echoing over and over. It sickened her now every bit as much as it had sickened her then, but far worse than living with never-ending nightmares was the knowledge that she was not the victim she’d been portrayed in court. The true victims were the women Thomas had defiled, degraded, violated and murdered in a gruesome, inhuman manner, and it was they who deserved justice. Not Eliza. She’d deserved the same punishment handed down to Thomas. She should, even now, be in prison consigned to a lifetime behind bars.
Because she was guilty of the worst crime of all. Stupidity. Naïveté. Willful ignorance. And an aching need for love and acceptance, as only a vulnerable young girl could fantasize about the things she’d never been gifted with. Things she craved far more than the truth. She didn’t want reality. Her reality was dismal and without hope, love or acceptance. Things Thomas had offered and she’d latched on to with fervent desperation. She’d been absolute in her belief that he was a good man and was being wrongfully questioned and investigated. She’d been determined to do anything to prove his innocence because if he wasn’t then she lost the fantasy world she’d plunged so recklessly into. Rooting herself so deeply in denial that she’d convinced herself none of it was real. Except Thomas’s love for her. She’d clung to that and only that, refusing to see what was so pathetically obvious to everyone except her. Because she chose denial. Refused to return to reality. Her crime was that choice, because deep down she knew it wasn’t real and she hadn’t cared. And her denial and selfish desperation for love had condemned innocent women to death.
Thomas hadn’t loved her. He wasn’t capable of something so beautiful and selfless. It had taken her witnessing the depraved things he’d done to an innocent woman before she was forced to acknowledge what an utter, gullible fool she
’d been. God, how so very ignorant of love she’d been then—a lifetime ago. But she’d witnessed the real deal now. And finally understood. Knew it for what it truly was and not the twisted, manipulative and sick perversion she’d once been immersed in. A nightmarish, unending source of shame that she’d never escape. But back then he’d tapped into her young mind and pulled every longing, every wish, her every dream and desire and then he’d given her precisely what her unrealistic fantasies had manifested themselves into. She’d been an easy mark and Thomas hadn’t had to exert any effort whatsoever to bend her to his will.
She shivered, pulling at the sleeves of her windbreaker and finally pulling the hood to cover her head as chilly spring rain began to gently fall. There was no longer any need to ensure she was noticed and recognized. In a few hours’ time, the entire town would know of her arrival. And Thomas too would be aware that she was here.
Tears welled and for once she didn’t call them back and refuse to let them free. They merely mixed with the rain, disguised by the now more pronounced sprinkle that had begun just seconds ago. She wasn’t breaking her vow never to let anyone see her cry ever again. Because there was no way to distinguish her tears from the rain, and she could no longer bear the horrific burden without having an outlet.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t know. It’s no excuse. I should have known. I should have been smarter. If I had, none of you would be dead. But I swear to you on my life, that I won’t fail you like the justice system failed you . . . and me.”
She knew well how the rest would play out now that she’d made her move. Speculation would run rampant—was already rippling through the town. She’d continue to face the same scorn and ridicule she’d already been subjected to and be treated like a leper.
None of that mattered. The only thing that mattered was that Thomas got wind that she was here and as soon as he was a free man, not only would he know she’d come, he’d know how to find her. It wasn’t as if she was going to make it hard.
Until then, she’d be treated with no better regard than Thomas himself, only the people here would be even more bitter toward her because she had never paid for her crimes. She’d gone free while so many other women had paid the price for her freedom.
It was nothing more than she deserved. She deserved far worse.
It mattered little what they thought of her. But soon . . . soon they would know that justice had finally been served when not only Thomas Harrington took his last breath and Eliza either died taking him out, or she spent the rest of her life in prison.
She’d only had a short time to prepare herself, and she was prepared. She’d trained and been trained by the best, and she didn’t fear death if it meant Thomas could never hurt another woman. But she hadn’t expected to feel so painfully empty, soulless and already dead on the inside.
And so lonely, she ached.
Knowing she was merely delaying the inevitable, she turned away from the steps of the courthouse, recalling another image of when she’d left the courtroom after the sentencing and had been swarmed by reporters, cameras and microphones. All of which she’d ignored, desperate to be away from a place that had caused her so much shame, anguish and heartrending guilt.
It, like so many other dreams, haunted her at night. Never the same one in a row. But each one eating away at her little by little, night by night, taking a piece of her soul until there was barely any left. When the nightmares became too much to bear, she simply didn’t sleep and instead, remained awake, drinking coffee on autopilot as she went back over her mission, absorbing every detail, no matter how minor, and planning for every conceivable scenario.
It was ingrained in her memory. There would be no forgetting it. She could recount it verbatim down to the most minute detail. But she studied her notes, and there were stacks, as a way of atonement. A reminder to all those women that they hadn’t been forgotten. Not by her. Never by her.
She knew each of their names. Whether they were married, single, had families, or like her, had no one at all to even notice she was gone and to grieve for the loss of her. She already had personally drafted letters to each of the victims’ families or loved ones ready to be mailed. Anyone she could find that a once vibrant, beautiful woman belonged to. And she would explain that justice was finally being served and apologize for her part in Thomas’s madness. At least the victims’ families would have confirmation instead of bitter resentment that he was alive and free while their loved one was dead.
Those letters would be mailed right before she took Thomas down in case she wasn’t alive to do it after. Then and only then would she carry out her crusade, and she would not fail, no matter the cost, no matter if she went down with him. In the deepest, darkest recesses of what remained of her soul, she wanted final rest and freedom from the oppressive burden she’d carried for so many years.
Dragging her jacket more firmly around her to shield her from the now much colder drizzle, she walked slowly back by the diner, her work done for today. Now, she waited. And anticipated the feeling of redemption when Thomas Harrington ceased to exist.
At the end of the street was a mail drop. A sharp stab of pain slashed through her chest at the reminder of the letter she’d mailed to Gracie. She’d mailed it from Kansas, taking an indirect route to Oregon so no one could track her, her purpose to send anyone coming after her in the opposite direction. And they would come. But while they were chasing dead ends in the Midwest, she would be in Oregon doing what she should have done long ago.
It wasn’t the smart thing to do, but she couldn’t drop off the face of the earth having Gracie thinking Eliza was angry with her. She owed her this much for saving her life. And she hadn’t lied to Sterling about the surprise involving Gracie’s school for impoverished children. She’d gifted her entire savings to Gracie’s cause because Eliza would have no use for it since she’d either be dead or in jail.
Her letter had been a goodbye and not a very subtle one. She’d asked Gracie to tell Tori, Ari and Ramie she loved them and considered them her dearest and only girlfriends and she’d made only one request in regard to her male coworkers. She’d asked Gracie to tell them she was sorry for letting them down, for failing them. But for Dane, she’d included a smaller sealed envelope and simply asked for Gracie to personally deliver it to her partner and the best friend she’d ever had.
She closed her eyes and hunched down, shielding her face from the rain as she began the half mile walk to the house she’d rented. A hotel wasn’t an option and the town only sported an aging bed and breakfast and a motel that she wasn’t surprised to see was still likely being used for the nightly hookups and drug binges, where dealers and buyers met and, for a price, the management looked the other way. And since it was owned by the chief of police’s brother-in-law, there wasn’t much to worry about as far as it being raided.
Once, after a late shift at the diner, she’d left at two in the morning to walk to the home of the elderly woman she sat for during the day and had been blocked by two potheads, high as a kite and looking to score with an easy target. They’d already reserved a room at the seedy motel and had been waiting in the shadows for her to cross their path.
Thomas, who’d been courting Eliza for several weeks, had materialized out of nowhere and quickly put the fear of God in the two drug addicts, threatening to tear them apart if they so much as looked at Eliza again.
Thomas had a mild manner about him. He didn’t appear to be a badass capable of taking down one, much less two, drug users strung out on God only knew what, but there was something in the way he carried himself, the absolute confidence and determination that made others steer clear of him. The men that is.
Women were utterly charmed by him, and Eliza had been no exception. She’d found it wildly romantic and sweet that he would defend her so veraciously and then sweep her into his protection, vowing that no harm would ever come to her. And so he’d eaten supper at the diner most nights and sat in the corner until Eliza got
off and then he’d walk her back to the house of the woman she sat for, with stern instructions to rest and be careful.
Oh how easy a target she’d been. Even without his psychic abilities, he would have manipulated her with ease. It wasn’t difficult for a young girl who had nothing and came from nothing to be overwhelmed by a handsome older man who genuinely seemed to care about her and respect her. He embodied everything she’d never had, never hoped to have, but wanted with everything in her young romantic heart.
He’d been the consummate gentleman, never acting inappropriately, but then he had the benefit of knowing her thoughts, her cynicism and her doubts and so he knew exactly what not to do in order not to lose her faith in him. She’d never had a chance once he’d targeted her. Every action, movement, thought or gesture carefully orchestrated by plucking what she feared most and longed for most right out of her head.
If only she’d known then that when it seemed too good to be true, too perfect, then it very likely was. The woman she was now would never be so coerced or manipulated. She’d call bullshit before a man like Thomas even opened his mouth.
She despised smooth, polished men as a result and avoided them above all else. It was why it had taken her considerable time—and effort—to let her guard down with Dane and allow herself to trust someone—a man—again. Because for all his brusque mannerisms and abrupt speech and nature, Dane screamed wealth, power and polish. And an air of confidence that was tangible to anyone around him.
Just like . . . Wade Sterling. Goddamn it, she had to stop allowing him into her thoughts! Her lip curled just thinking of the cretin and his blatant blackmail and then the stunt he’d pulled at her apartment. Pretending he gave a damn. For one infinitesimal moment she’d actually been convinced that he was concerned about her and that he was furious at her for not taking better care of herself.
She snorted. Never again was she falling for that crap. Some lessons were simply learned only to be forgotten. Others were branded so deep that they were etched on your soul, never to be dismissed and damn sure never to be repeated.
She didn’t doubt he was attracted to her or at least had a healthy dose of lust but maybe he got off on being turned down flat. Who the hell knew with a man like him. But sex and actual caring were not even in the same stratosphere.
Like Dane, Sterling exuded the same wealth, power and polish, only with a . . . rougher edge. She’d never been able to put her finger on it until right now, but she realized it wasn’t practiced polish. He simply didn’t give a fuck. He was just that confident, and so much arrogance made Eliza want to stab something. Preferably him. Dane was similar in attitude as far as not giving a fuck about what people thought about him, but he’d go to the wall for the few people he cared about. She had no idea what Sterling’s agenda was nor did she care to find out.
Both men were dangerous and anyone would be a fool to ever think otherwise. Her brow furrowed because in all honesty, they were, in fact, very similar.
So why the hell did she trust Dane with her life, love him like a brother and have his back, no questions asked—ever—and yet the mere sight of Sterling immediately got her hackles up?
In the beginning, she’d found irritating him a great source of amusement but then he’d started turning it back around on her and she couldn’t back off quickly enough. She’d questioned herself a thousand times. Had she unwittingly encouraged him? Did he think that hurling insults and taking him down a notch or two was her way of flirting? Did he think she was coming on to him? Worse, did he think she was interested because of his wealth and obvious connections?
The last thing she wanted was to become involved with a man. Especially a man like Wade. She’d been no match for Thomas and time and distance had given her a lot of perspective and it wasn’t that Thomas was that skilled. She’d just been lonely and starved for human contact. She’d wanted love. Were it not for Thomas’s psychic abilities, he would have been an epic failure at seducing her—or so she insisted, as a way to console herself. And if she was walking, drenched in the rain, admitting that she had been no match for Thomas, then what the hell did that say about her chances against Sterling?
He’d eat her alive and spit her out in pieces, with or without psychic abilities. He’d certainly called her out on a hell of a lot during his tantrum days earlier, so the man was intuitive and underestimating him would be the height of stupidity. But those weren’t things she hadn’t already known. She’d just made it a regular practice to never be in the same vicinity as him so she could exist in blissful ignorance. Wow, apparently some lessons weren’t learned.
She shook her head, pissed that even now, thousands of miles away, Sterling was fucking with her head every bit as much as Thomas had. Obviously men weren’t the problem. She was. She was a head case around them and clearly she must have a neon stamp on her forehead that flashed gullible in bold letters, because she always attracted the deviants and assholes, Sterling fitting the latter description. Or maybe the former too. How the hell would she know? It was already established her taste in men was deplorable.
As she neared the small, one-bedroom house where downtown faded to nothing but county roads, open fields and houses and trailers scattered haphazardly across the landscape, her stomach cramped and she automatically rubbed her hand over her chest in an effort to quell the panic and anxiety that screamed to be let loose and had become harder each day to keep restrained as she neared the beginning of the end.
She’d purposely turned off her cell phone for two reasons. One, she wasn’t stupid, and just because the Devereauxs or Dane didn’t announce that the cell phones provided by the company were equipped with sophisticated tracking devices, didn’t mean they weren’t, and if she used it, she may as well stand in the town square with a bullhorn and announce to the world she was here.
The second was that once Gracie received Eliza’s letter—if she hadn’t already—all bets were off and her phone would be blowing the hell up around the clock. Dane’s request to stay in touch with only him bought her the necessary few days to make her escape before Gracie got the letter. In the meantime, she was supposed to be getting herself back together.
She almost laughed, an incongruous feeling when her heart literally felt like it was splintering apart because she’d never been together. She was who she was out of necessity and because of that promise she’d made all those years ago. She lived with that reminder every single day. Not a night went by that she didn’t think about taking Thomas out for good, but she always stopped there, because what happened afterward was out of her control and all that mattered was that the world would be rid of one more monster.
She trudged up to the dilapidated cottage the owner had been only too happy to rent to Eliza by the week. At most, two weeks was all she needed because she was now only two days from Thomas’s release, and he’d come for her.
As she unlocked her door to quietly slip inside, a sound snapped her from the oppressive weight of her thoughts and she reacted sluggishly, acknowledging helplessly that she was useless like this. She possessed none of the skills and instincts she’d spent years honing to perfection. How could she expect to face Thomas and ruthlessly kill him in cold blood when she was a walking zombie?
She reached for the knife tucked inside the sleeve of her jacket. It was the only weapon she could take into the small downtown area without drawing attention to herself and that wasn’t on the agenda . . . yet.
Before she had it opened and assumed a defensive stance, familiar strong arms wrapped around her body, effectively rendering her immobile.
Sterling?
His strength was a thing of awe. She wasn’t huge in stature, but she was strong for her size and she was quick—usually. But power coiled and simmered from his large frame, as did the seething heat of his fury.
And then the unthinkable registered, creeping through the sluggish mush of her mind. Sterling. Here. In Calvary. Not just in the town, but in the house she’d rented. Seen and associated with her.
A low moan of anguish tore from her throat because now, if she failed, one more person would be added to the list of those Thomas would kill for the unpardonable sin of being in Eliza’s life, regardless of the capacity.
Her knees buckled and she plunged downward only to be hauled up and held firmly against the muscled wall of his chest. She pressed her hands over her face, feeling the hot tears already leaking from her eyes. No, no, no! She couldn’t lose it now. She couldn’t break. Not when she was so close to the end game. She had to keep it together!
“You have to go,” she said, grief heavy in her voice. “Hurry! Get out before anyone knows you’ve been here and then he’ll never know you have any connection to me.”
She looked him straight in the eyes, lifting her chin, uncaring of her obvious vulnerability or the humiliation of tears flooding her eyes and this time she was fully aware of the name she used.
“God, please, Wade. I’m begging you. Save yourself and get out!”