by Cynthia Eden
He stared into her eyes. The tears were gone, but he could see the tracks drying on her cheeks. “Fall apart anytime you want,” he told her softly. “I’ll be right here to catch you.”
Her head tilted and she got that look about her—the one that told him Sarah was trying to figure him out. Keep trying, baby. It won’t happen.
“How did you know . . . I was crying?”
He turned away from her. “Because you called my name.”
“No, I . . . I didn’t.”
“Yes, baby, you did.” When Sarah called, he had the feeling he’d always answer her. “Want to finish that shower now and—”
A phone was ringing. Her phone, from the other room. He heard her sharp inhale, and then she was rushing past him, and nearly losing that towel again in the process.
She grabbed her phone and when her expression tightened, he knew who was calling her.
She hit the button to put the call on speaker. Her fingers trembled the faintest bit as she held that phone between her and Jax. “Where’s Molly?” Sarah said by way of greeting.
Laughter flowed over the line. Low and mocking, and Jax’s hands clenched into fists.
“She’s not a pile of ash, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
The man’s voice held no accent, but something about that voice seemed to tug at Jax’s memories. Do I know him? Do I know this bastard?
“But you were almost ash, weren’t you, Sarah? I was watching . . . saw you running toward the door.”
“On your cameras?” Sarah’s voice held no emotion, but the phone was still trembling in her grasp. “You set a trap for me.”
More laughter. Jax would be stopping that laughter, permanently. There were just some people who made the world a better place . . . when they weren’t in it.
“Didn’t think you would actually die,” the man murmured. “Not in the first room, though you did make me hope for a moment, Still, I thought you’d get some nice scars on that pretty face of yours. Scars to go show Daddy.”
Jax took out his phone. He had numbers for all of the LOST members. After all, he believed in being prepared. So he sent a quick text to Gabe. The bastard you’re after just called Sarah again. She’s talking to him now.
“I don’t want the cops involved, Sarah.” Now anger rumbled in the guy’s voice. “Molly is still alive, and if you want her back . . . I told you, you have to find her. That’s what you do, right?”
“I don’t believe she’s alive.” Sarah’s voice was flat. “I want proof of life, and I want it now.”
Silence.
“Maybe she did die in that fire,” Sarah continued. He was impressed that she kept her voice so calm. “Maybe you’re just jerking us around until we get the report from the fire marshal. If Molly’s alive like you say, then give me proof now, or I’m hanging up the phone.”
His breath rasped over the line. “She’s alive, bitch.”
“Prove it.” Sarah was staring down at the phone, not at Jax.
A text came through from Gabe. What is he saying?
Jax texted back. Sarah wants proof of life . . . he isn’t giving it to her.
Because Molly was dead?
There was only silence on the phone. No background noise at all that Jax could hear. In New Orleans, it was hard to find a place that quiet. People were everywhere. Music was always playing. Performers were in the streets. Something was happening.
“Do you want to hear her scream?” he finally asked Sarah. “I would have thought you’d heard enough screams when your daddy was cutting people up.”
Jax’s gaze snapped to Sarah’s face. She’d paled even more.
“Is that what he did?” Sarah asked, voice so mild and emotionless. “Did he cut up someone you loved? A mother, like Molly?”
He laughed.
“No,” Sarah said. “It couldn’t be your mother because you wouldn’t do this to Molly if that had been the case. You wouldn’t make her relive this terror.”
She was profiling him.
And the guy on the line was dead silent.
“You want to be like Murphy, don’t you?” Her words came faster. “You’re the one giving the pain, you’re the one—”
“I am nothing like him!” Those words were a roar. Sarah had definitely succeeded in breaking through that guy’s control.
“Aren’t you?” Sarah threw right back. “Then give me proof of life!”
The phone went dead.
“Dammit,” Sarah whispered.
Jax texted . . . No proof. We lost—
Her phone rang again. Same number. Molly’s number?
Calling again, he texted back.
Sarah didn’t answer the phone. “You told LOST what was happening, right?” Sarah asked Jax quietly. “Those are the texts you’re sending?”
He nodded.
“Then they can try to get a lock on the phone. Tell Gabe I’m answering again, and I’ll keep the guy talking for as long as I can.”
Jax sent the text through to Gabe.
Sarah swiped her index finger over the surface of that phone. Then she hit the button for speaker—
“You bitch!” The guy blasted. “You’re the one who should have died all those years ago! Murphy’s daughter. Blood as tainted . . . just like him!”
“Proof of life,” Sarah said. “Give it to me, or I hang up on you right now.”
Silence. Then . . . the rush of footsteps. The . . . lap of water? Yes, yes, it sounded like water, lapping against a dock. The man was running and Jax could hear water. And . . .
A squeak as a door opened. The thud of footsteps, a bit distorted, as if the guy were rushing up stairs. His breath was shuddering over the line and—
“She wants proof that you’re alive.”
A woman screamed then. Loud and long, and Sarah flinched.
The caller laughed. Why are you laughing, asshole? Because you like hurting women? Ah, now that was just one thing that Jax fucking hated.
Yet another reason to kill this guy.
“I just drove my knife into her, Sarah. Didn’t hit an organ, that way she’ll just bleed and hurt, but not die. Guess who taught me that move?”
Sarah didn’t speak.
“Who taught me that move, Sarah? Who liked to keep his prey alive while they bled and begged?”
“Murphy.”
Another long scream filled the line.
“I stabbed her again, Sarah,” he said, sounding almost gleeful. “I stab—”
“How do I know that’s Molly? Put her on the line. Let me talk to her. Let me know it’s her. Because maybe you’ve got an accomplice who’s just screaming on command. Maybe you’re some dumb dick who—”
“Help me!” That was a woman’s terror-filled voice.
“Molly?” Sarah asked. Again, she was like ice. No emotion at all in her voice. But the phone still trembled in her grasp. “I need proof that it’s you. Tell me something that will—”
“I won’t . . . beg . . . like her.” The words were weak. “Won’t go out . . . like my m-mother . . . won’t beg, no matter what he says . . .”
Sarah’s eyes closed. “No, Molly, don’t beg, do you understand? Whatever he does, don’t beg for death.”
Another scream then . . .
“Happy now?” the man taunted Sarah. “You’re the reason Molly bled. But then, you’re the reason Molly’s mother died, too, aren’t you?”
Sarah sucked in a quick breath of air and her eyes opened. “You think you know my secrets.”
“I know where the bodies are buried.” Laughter. “All of them. And before I’m done, Sarah, you’ll be joining them. Another body, buried in a shallow grave. A grave that the police can’t ever find because they believe the lies—”
“Molly, if you can hear me, I’m coming for you,” Sarah said, cutting over his words. “You’re going to make it out of this alive, just don’t give up. Do you understand me? Don’t give up—”
“Molly can’t talk now,” he murmured. “S
he’s too busy getting stabbed.”
Molly’s scream filled the air once more.
“Hurry, Sarah. Find her fast. Because if you don’t, she’ll always be one of the lost.”
Once more, the line went dead.
Chapter 8
SARAH DROPPED HER TOWEL. IT HIT THE FLOOR and she lunged for her bag. She grabbed clothes as fast as she could, dressing in a whirlwind. Get the lock on the phone. Get the lock on the phone.
Bra. Panties. Jeans. T-shirt. Shoes—
Jax’s phone rang. He’d been standing there, his hard gaze on her. But when it rang, he answered, saying, “Did you get it?”
Her heart stopped for a moment.
“Fuck, yes,” Jax said. “We’ll meet you there.” Then he shoved the phone into his pocket. He inclined his head toward her. “They got it to within one mile of the location before they lost the signal. Gabe and the cops are heading down to the riverfront’s warehouse district—that’s where he’s got her. They’re going to search—”
“And so are we,” Sarah said. Because this was their break.
They ran from the hotel room.
I’m coming, Molly. I’ll find you.
THE NEW ORLEANS airport was filled with people. So many folks coming and going. Weary passengers. Excited kids.
Victoria held her ticket as she glanced around the terminal. Her flight was going to leave in the next thirty minutes. She’d be back in Atlanta, back in her little house, that night. Then she could lock the doors, shut the blinds, and try to forget what it was like to be sealed up in a body bag.
Her phone rang. Frowning, she glanced down. Gabe’s photo and name flashed across the screen. She answered immediately. “Boss, what’s up?” Not a body. Don’t have found that poor girl’s dead body. This time, this case . . . Victoria just needed a win for LOST. They were supposed to be making a difference in the world. That was why she’d joined them. They weren’t supposed to just be watching the body count rise.
“Okay, first, you need to know that Wade’s all right.”
She nearly dropped the phone. It was never good to begin the conversation with words like that. Because using first sure implied there was going to be a second that might not be so good.
“He’s in the hospital, St. Dominic’s, and he has a concussion, but the guy is tough as nails and he’ll be on his feet in no time.”
That was supposed to reassure her. “What happened?”
“The guy who took Molly set a trap for Sarah and Wade. The building they were searching—it exploded.”
OhmyGod. Her knees were feeling very jellylike. “They were in the building when it exploded?” She turned away from the terminal and began walking toward the exit. Her left hand curled around her bag.
“No, no¸ they hadn’t gone inside yet. It was a damn near thing.”
So Sarah and Wade had both nearly been blown to hell and back?
“But we’ve got a new lead on the perp. The search teams are going in now and we think we’ll find the girl.”
“Alive?” she forced herself to ask.
“She was alive just a few minutes ago,” Gabe said, his voice flat. “And we’re busting ass to get there now.”
She could hear voices talking behind him. Hear the wail of sirens.
The sliding doors at the airport’s exit opened for her.
“Viki, I just wanted to update you. I’ll call again when I think your plane has landed.”
“Forget that,” she told him bluntly. “I’ll be at the hospital with Wade. If you need me, you call.” Because she wasn’t going to run away when all hell was breaking loose on this case. She also wasn’t going to leave Wade on his own. He’d been there for her when she needed him.
It was time for her to return the favor.
Gabe ended the call, promising to update her.
Victoria lifted her hand. “Taxi!”
“JUST DROP ME off at the scene,” Sarah said, her gaze on the road. “I’ll join Gabe and the cops on the search. You don’t have to stay.”
He didn’t respond.
She glanced over at him. His hands were tight around the wheel. “Thanks for all you’ve done,” Sarah rushed to say. “And—”
“The guy wants you dead, Sarah. The last thing I’m going to do is leave you unprotected on that jerk’s turf.” He shook his head. “I’m not dropping and ditching you, that’s for sure. Consider me your personal guard.”
And he’d done it again. Surprised her. She just couldn’t get a handle on him. Everything she’d read in his background said he was dangerous. A man you didn’t want as an enemy. But he wasn’t an enemy or any threat to her. He was . . . a protector.
“How did you even get out of jail?” Sarah asked him as her brows snapped up. In all the chaos, she hadn’t even asked him. “I thought they were booking you for assault on Ron Tate.”
“Well, as for that . . .” He turned right and slanted a fast glance her way. “Seems that—before my lawyer even had the chance to throw his weight around—someone got the witness to recant her statement. Ella Jane pressed charges against Ron, and she said I was her hero.” His lips quirked in a faint smile. “I’m sure the cops nearly shit themselves at that, but she was singing my praises when I left the jail.”
And he was a free man.
Sarah considered him. He hadn’t fought the cops at all when he’d been taken back to holding. In fact, he’d almost seemed . . . pleased . . . with the situation. In his mocking I’m-Jax-Fontaine-kiss-my-ass way. “You wanted to go back to lockup, didn’t you? So that you could talk with Eddie?” If she looked deep enough, she could almost see the layers this man possessed.
“Yeah, about that . . .” He expelled a quick breath. “What with the explosion and psycho calling, I didn’t get to tell you sooner, but Eddie Guthrie is in the hospital. The guy you’re looking for—I think he pumped the kid with drugs, then sent him your way.”
Sarah’s cheeks felt too hot, then icy cold. “I . . . I thought he was a user.” Longtime, an addict.
“First-timer, unless I’m wrong. Not usually wrong, though. Not about that. I’ve seen too many drug heads in my time.”
She wasn’t usually wrong, either . . . but . . . Did I miss this? That wasn’t like her. Her fingers fiddled with her seat belt.
“He’s on a bad trip. The guy was convulsing the last time I saw him.”
Her fingers stilled. “Will he make it?”
“The medics were coming in so I hope they got him stable but . . . the guy was a weapon. Drug him, aim him, and fire him—”
“At me,” Sarah finished. Because that was exactly what the man out there had done. Dear old dad had sure made plenty of enemies. Enemies that wouldn’t stop climbing out of the woodwork.
And the worst part was . . . she understood exactly why they hated her father. Why they hated her.
Some days, Sarah hated herself.
She looked down at her left wrist. The scar was there, a stark reminder of all the things she could never forget.
What did you do to yourself, Sarah? Her father’s words whispered through her mind. She’d been in the bathroom, slumped near the toilet. Her father had come into the room, and fear—actual fear—had flashed in his eyes. Blood had pooled around her and the razor—his razor—had been on the floor near her hip. It had fallen from her shaking fingers when she’d tried to slice the veins in her right hand. My fingers had been too weak to do the job. Because I’d cut my left wrist too deeply. Those fingers had stopped working.
And she hadn’t been able to finish the job.
I’ll take care of you. He’d promised her that. You’ll be as good as new.
But she wasn’t good. She wasn’t new. She’d never been the same after her sixteenth birthday. Because on that date, life had changed. She’d—
Police lights appeared on the street to the left. A fast swirl of blue.
“I guess we found the party,” Jax murmured.
Yes, they had. The cop cars were rushing down the
street and she knew the police would be setting up a search perimeter.
Jax braked to a stop, and they hurried to join the group. Gabe saw them, and he waved them over. Dean was with him and Dean’s fiancée, Emma Castille, was at his side. Emma’s long, dark, flowing hair was pulled back and her hoop earrings swayed lightly with her movements. When she saw Jax, her bright blue eyes widened. “Jax, what are you doing here?” she asked him, and Emma immediately put her hand on Jax’s shoulder.
Sarah stiffened. She knew that Emma and Jax had been lovers, but that had been a long time ago. Right? Emma was . . . the woman was great. A wonderful new addition to LOST and a woman who actually seemed to understand Sarah.
Sarah shouldn’t . . .
. . . be wanting to rip Emma’s hand off Jax.
Ah, so this was what jealousy felt like. Sarah decided she didn’t like it—and she didn’t have time for it. Not then. Not when Molly was waiting.
But she did remove Emma’s hand, and Sarah said bluntly, “He’s helping on this case.”
“Uh, yes, okay . . .” Emma’s gaze swept from Sarah to Jax. “But it’s a crime scene, and Jax doesn’t exactly get along with cops.”
“They need as much help on this search as they can get,” Sarah said. That was sure the truth. They had a big search area, and they needed to move. “If they question us, just tell them Jax is with our team.”
“Then we might all get our asses thrown out of here,” Dean Bannon murmured as he cast a considering glance Jax’s way. Dean and Jax didn’t exactly get along. Mostly because of that whole Jax-and-Emma past thing. Right then, Sarah could understand where Dean was coming from with his jealousy but—
“A woman is hurt and she needs us.” Sarah straightened her shoulders. Personal shit had to wait. “We have to find her, now.” Because it wasn’t like the perp would miss the swarm of police out there.
Detective West and Detective Cross hurried toward them. Cross frowned at Jax, but before the detective could do anything like, oh, order Jax off the scene, Jax said, “You need to be searching the buildings that are directly beside the water.”
Cross put his hands on his hips. “Is that so?”
“Yeah, it’s so.” Jax pointed up. “And go to the second floor. When Sarah had him on the phone, I could hear the lap of the water against the dock. Then the guy went inside and up one flight of stairs.” He paused. “Just one flight. I counted the steps.”