Shattered

by Cynthia Eden

  “It’s never a good idea to walk alone when so many . . .” He waved his hand to the crowd. “ . . . drunk jerks are about.”

  She almost smiled at him then.

  “How about I just take you two streets over, to where the cabs wait? Will that work?”

  Her fingers were still pulling lightly at her braid, but right then, a particularly drunk SOB—drunk and fat—barreled into her. Molly would have gone flying face-first into the pavement, but he lunged out and caught her.

  “Got you,” he whispered to her.

  She smiled at him. “I . . . I think I’d like it if you came with me.”

  Of course, she would.

  They turned together and headed down the road. He kept his pace even with hers, and he talked easily about everything. The weather. Beignets. The LSU Tigers. And a few minutes later, when the crowd thinned because they’d left Bourbon Street and no one was watching him, he put his hand on Molly’s slender shoulder.

  It’s time. This was the spot he’d picked.

  “Do you think she suffered?” he asked Molly.

  Her steps stumbled. “Wh-What?”

  “Your mother. Before she died, do you think she suffered?”

  Molly’s body tensed. She tried to jerk away from him.

  He didn’t let her go.

  “Let’s find out,” he said, and he put his hand over her mouth before she could scream. “Let’s find out just what those last, horrible hours were like for her.” He shoved a needle into her throat. Then he lifted her up easily, and he started to hum as he carried sweet Molly away.

  Chapter 3

  SARAH CRACKED OPEN ONE EYE. SHE SAW A WHITE, thick comforter about two inches from her face. She opened her other eye—and she saw a big, naked male right beside her.

  Jax was sprawled across the bed, and he had one arm currently wrapped around her stomach. A naked stomach since—just like him—she wasn’t wearing a stitch of clothes.

  They’d moved from the den. After the best orgasm that she could remember having, she’d been limp, but they’d made it up the stairs.

  Then he’d given her another mind-numbing orgasm.

  Fear had been the last emotion she felt during the hours with him.

  She could just see the light of dawn creeping through the shades. The night had ended, and it was time for her to go. She held her breath as she slid from the bed. Morning-after scenes weren’t really her thing. Mostly because she didn’t have a whole lot of them. Very carefully, she rose to her feet and tiptoed to the door. Sarah was naked when she headed down the stairs. When one stair creaked beneath her feet, she stopped, but heard no sound from above.

  Her heart was racing in her chest when she reached the landing, and Sarah hurried to the den and found her clothes thrown around the room. She dressed as quickly as she could, and— Her gaze fell on the wineglasses.

  You don’t have to pretend here with me. You can let go. She had let go with him. All of her defenses had fallen down in the darkness.

  She turned away and hurried to the little alarm box near his door. When he’d been typing in the code last night, she’d been paying careful attention. She always did. She’d been taught to watch others. Her fingers quickly flew over the keypad and she disengaged the alarm. Then Sarah rushed outside. She paused briefly near the gate, then typed in the code there, too. Before she left, she glanced back over her shoulder once more. Her gaze rose to the second floor. The blinds were open now, and she could see Jax. Standing up there, watching her.

  She froze. This was it. Her last moment with him. And she was running because she didn’t know what to say. Oh, Sarah understood completely why she was drawn to him. Like a moth right to the burning flame.

  It wasn’t because he was drop-dead sexy, though Jax certainly was.

  It wasn’t because he was strong. Fierce. It wasn’t even because he’d saved her life the night before.

  No, it was something even more basic than that. She looked at him, looked past the mask that he wore and she realized—

  His secrets are as dark as my own. He was a man who understood the ghosts she battled every day. Her fingers trailed over the scar on her left wrist. A scar that she’d always kept hidden from her fellow LOST agents. She’d worn long-sleeved shirts or her bracelet—one she’d picked just because its large width covered the wound. She hadn’t wanted anyone to know how desperate she’d been on that long-ago night.

  But Jax knew. She had the feeling that Jax could learn all of her secrets.

  She slipped through the gate.

  And that’s why I have to leave him.

  “SARAH . . .” JAX put his hand against the windowpane. “You can run, but I’ll find you.” And she was running. Vanishing through that gate. Clever lady, she’d learned his alarm codes last night. He hadn’t even realized that she’d been watching when he keyed them in. Now he would remember that Sarah was always focused, even when it seemed her attention was elsewhere.

  He turned from the window. The room smelled of her. Sweet vanilla and sex. He’d had her, but taking Sarah hadn’t ended the odd obsession that he felt for her. If anything, the obsession had intensified because now he knew what it was like to sink into her, to hear her moan, and to watch her eyes go wild with pleasure.

  “You can run,” Jax murmured again as he touched the pillow she’d lain on moments before, “but I like the hunt.”

  EVEN THOUGH IT was early, the New Orleans police station was already buzzing with activity. Uniformed officers hurried around the bullpen. Tired-looking detectives hunched over their desks. Phones rang. Voices rose.

  Chaos was all around her. Luckily, Sarah was used to chaos. Squaring her shoulders, she walked toward the dark-haired detective who had just risen from his desk. He was one of the detectives she’d spoken with after her attack—Brent West. He was tall, had broad shoulders, and had a no-nonsense attitude that she’d respected. His skin was a dark cream, totally unlined, so he could be anywhere from twenty-five to forty.

  He turned toward her, and she saw that his gaze looked . . . tired. As if he’d been up all night. When he saw her, a furrow appeared between his brows. “Dr. Jacobs?”

  She gave him a quick smile. One that she hoped didn’t look particularly nervous or desperate. “Do you have a moment to spare for me?”

  The furrow deepened between his eyes. “Sure. I mean, has something happened? Are you all right?”

  She waved away his concern. “I’m fine. I actually . . . I wanted to talk with you about Eddie Guthrie.” She kept her voice mild and her hands stayed loose at his sides.

  “Oh, ma’am, you don’t have to worry about him.” Brent gave a firm nod. “With the evidence we have on him, it’s going to be an open-and-shut case.”

  Yes, right, but . . . “Is there any chance I can see him?”

  The detective blinked at her. “You want to run that by me again?”

  She straightened her spine. “I’m a psychiatrist, and I’ve interviewed literally hundreds of criminals over the years.”

  He waited and didn’t look particularly impressed. Right. Sarah cleared her throat. “What if he just needs help?”

  His sharp look questioned her sanity. “Ma’am, he attacked you. He had a knife to your throat. You’re lucky he didn’t slice open your jugular.”

  What a lovely visual. She swallowed. “My father . . . killed Eddie Guthrie’s mother.” Such an understatement. Her father had tortured Gwen Guthrie. And I heard her screaming. I was just a kid. I heard her . . . but he told me it was nothing. He tucked me in bed. Kissed me good night, and said I was safe.

  Only Sarah hadn’t realized the truth of that long-ago night, not until far too late.

  “Because of what you father did, you think that makes it all right for that guy in there to come after you with a knife?”

  Sleep tight. You know you’re safe tonight.

  Sarah shook her head. “No, no, I don’t.” She stared into the detective’s eyes. “But I think losing a parent so violent
ly can have a lasting impact on a person. Eddie was so incredibly young when his mother was murdered.” She knew he’d just been a baby. His sister had only been a little older. “Before he’s thrown in jail, I’d like to see if . . . if he needs—”

  “What? Counseling?” He laughed, but the sound held little humor. “You’re one of those, huh? You think you can fix everyone with some therapy.”

  She thought of her father. “Therapy can’t fix everyone.” Not even close. “I just want to talk with him, okay? Five minutes, that’s all I’m asking.” The detective didn’t understand the guilt that tore through her whenever she thought of Eddie. “I mean, he can have a visitor, right? Put us in an interrogation room, and, if it makes you feel better, you can watch the whole scene.”

  He hesitated. His eyes—a dark green—swept over her. “You’re with LOST, right?”

  She nodded.

  “Heard about all you did down here recently.” His breath expelled in a rush. “So, yeah, fine, I figure we owe you five minutes considering the lives you probably saved by stopping that freak who was hunting in my city.”

  Her shoulders sagged. “Thank you, Detective.”

  He nodded. “Hell, maybe you’ll even get the guy to spill a full confession. That’s part of your deal, isn’t it? Getting the criminals to spill their secrets to you.”

  That wasn’t exactly how being a profiler worked.

  But before she could explain that to him, he had turned away and was heading toward an interrogation room. Sarah rushed to keep up with him.

  IN THE BRIGHT light of day, Eddie Guthrie didn’t look particularly intimidating. In fact, he looked like a skinny, scared kid. One with acne on his chin, greasy hair, and hands that were shaking.

  He’s really twenty-one? He appeared so heartbreakingly young to her.

  “If you’d like,” the detective said to Eddie, “you can have a lawyer in here, kid.”

  “Don’t need one,” Eddie said. His eyes were on Sarah. “We all know what I did. I tried to stop a monster.”

  Sarah didn’t flinch.

  The detective moved toward the far wall. He crossed his arms over his chest and watched them.

  Taking her time, Sarah advanced and then sat down across from Eddie. She stared at him a moment, letting her gaze sweep over his bloodshot eyes, his too pale skin, down to his trembling hands. Her lips curved down. “Withdrawal?” All of the signs were there. Classic.

  “Bitch, you don’t know a thing about me—”

  “I’m sorry about your mother.”

  She heard the sharp inhale of his breath. Her gaze lifted back to his dark eyes, and the pain in his stare was unmistakable.

  “Don’t talk about her,” he gritted out. “Don’t you dare!”

  “But she’s the reason that you broke into my room, right? Because of what happened to her?” I am so sorry, Eddie. Because as she stared at him, he stopped being the man who’d come to kill her. And, for an instant, he was a child. One who’d lost his mother to a brutal killer. To my father.

  “You took everything away from me,” Eddie whispered.

  Sarah shook her head, but . . . weren’t his words true? If she’d gone for help that night, if she’d tried to get more people to believe her . . . “I’m sorry,” she said again.

  His fisted hands slammed into the table. “Stop saying that!”

  Right. Going back wasn’t always for the best. She inhaled a deep, cleansing breath and said, “What happened to your sister?”

  He looked away.

  “Molly, wasn’t it?” As if she’d forgotten. Sarah had made a point to learn about the families of all her father’s victims. “She was just a little bit older than you when . . . when your mother died.” They’d both been mere babies. Sarah swallowed. “How is she now?”

  “Stay the fuck away from my family!”

  There was so much rage in Eddie.

  “Told you,” Detective West murmured as he shifted his stance a bit. “Waste of time. This kid’s a drug head. He’s going to get thrown in jail for years.”

  Fear came and went on Eddie’s face.

  “Is that what you want?” Sarah asked him. “To go to jail? To spend years locked away from your sister?”

  Slowly, he shook his head.

  “Then why did you come after me? Revenge? Was that really—”

  “He told me where you were.”

  And Sarah’s heart stopped beating. She actually felt it still in her chest, then in the next instant, it was racing, thumping far too hard in her chest. “Who told you that?”

  But Eddie had clamped his lips shut.

  “Eddie . . . Eddie, if someone put you up to the attack, you should tell us. Detective West can help you.” She thought Eddie needed to get put in rehab and start receiving some serious therapy. She thought—

  “No one can help me. Not now.”

  She shook her head. “That’s not true. It’s never too late.”

  He laughed. “Really? Is that the same line of bull you give to your father? Because we both know it’s too late for him. He’s evil, straight to the core.” His eyes turned to slits as he glared at her. “Just. Like. You.”

  WELL, THAT LITTLE chat certainly hadn’t gone well.

  Sarah stepped out of the interrogation room. Her hands wrapped around her stomach as she tried to settle her nerves.

  “Who was he talking about?”

  Ah, Detective West had followed her out. She should have known there would be someone watching her. Isn’t there always?

  Sarah glanced back over her shoulder. Deliberately, Sarah put her hands back at her sides.

  “When Eddie said that ‘he’ told him where to find you. Who the hell is the guy talking about?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Well, I sure think you and I need to be finding that out, Dr. Jacobs. Because it sounds like the guy sent Eddie to kill you.”

  Before she could respond, Sarah’s phone beeped. She pulled it out of her pocket and swiped her finger across the screen so she could see her text. The note was from her boss, Gabe Spencer.

  Client meeting. Get to the hotel ASAP.

  Since when did they have another client in New Orleans? She’d actually thought that Gabe was flying out of the city that afternoon. Hurriedly, she typed back, On my way. “Uh, excuse me,” she murmured to the detective. “I have a work meeting that I need to attend—”

  But he moved into her path. “You can’t be this cold.”

  She blinked at him.

  “You just discovered someone else out there wants you dead. Aren’t you afraid?”

  Absolutely, but fear changed nothing. “Have you contacted Eddie’s sister?” Sarah asked, instead of responding to his question.

  “I left three messages for her. She hasn’t called back yet.” He waved that away. “Knowing that someone might be out there, gunning for you . . . what are you going to do?”

  Find that person, before he finds me. “Maybe Eddie will talk more when his sister arrives.” She gave the detective her card—with her cell number. “Sometimes, people will open up more around family.” Then Sarah walked away.

  “And sometimes . . .” the detective called after her, “it’s the family that causes the problems, isn’t it?”

  She knew he was talking about her father. Murphy Jacobs.

  Or, as the press liked to call him . . . Murphy the Monster.

  She kept walking. Yes, family can cause the worst problems. And give you nightmares that won’t end.

  GABE SPENCER WAS staying at the same hotel that Sarah was using. All the LOST members were in that hotel.

  Only now we’ve got a new client? Just how much longer would they be staying in the Big Easy? She was ready to get home.

  When the elevator opened on Gabe’s floor, Sarah hurried forward. A few moments later, Sarah knocked lightly on Gabe’s door.

  Gabe Spencer. Ex-SEAL. All-around nice guy with a serious need to right the wrongs of the past. She’d profiled Gabe within mome
nts of meeting him, and she’d known, from the start, that he was one of those guys that a girl could always count on. Lots of power and strength, but nothing evil in his core.

  The door opened. Gabe stood there. His black hair had been swept back and his bright blue gaze sharpened when he saw her.

  “Sorry it took me so long,” she told him. “I, uh, made a little stop by the police station this morning.”

  She knew Gabe had been thoroughly briefed on last night’s events.

  Worry was clear on his face when he said, “You went to see Eddie Guthrie.”

  He was a nice, smart guy. She nodded.

  “You’ll tell me all about that,” he murmured as his fingers curled around her shoulder and he pulled her into the room. “After our client meeting.”

  Gabe wasn’t just staying in a normal hotel room. The guy was loaded, so he pretty much didn’t do anything normally. He’d booked a massive suite, and they were in the suite’s meeting space. A conference table was in the middle of the room, and the team had all gathered there. Sarah’s gaze swept the room, pausing briefly on each of her friends.

  The closest seat at the conference table was occupied by Victoria Palmer, their forensic anthropologist. Victoria’s long red hair had been pulled back in a ponytail. Glasses perched on her nose, and, as she sat there, Victoria’s gaze darted a bit nervously over toward Sarah. Victoria had healed from her recent attack—courtesy of their last case. Or at least she’d healed on the outside. Sarah knew some wounds—the ones that were hidden the deepest—could never truly heal.

  Dean Bannon was across the table from Victoria. An ex-FBI agent, Dean thrived on fieldwork. He loved the thrill of the hunt, and Sarah knew he would go to any extremes to find the missing.

  Wade Monroe sat next to Victoria. Wade was a former Atlanta detective and, in general, a hard-nosed guy who would do anything to get the job done. He was currently glaring—intently. But he wasn’t glaring at Sarah. His golden stare was fixed on the tall, blond man who stood with his back to them all. A man who appeared to be staring out of that massive picture window and down at the city below. A man who—

  —turned toward her.

  Not him. Not him.

  “Hello, Sarah,” Jax murmured.