“I noticed. You were shaking like a leaf.” Damien followed the direction of her gaze, studying the building in silence for a few moments before returning his attention to her. “That must have been very difficult for you,” he said quietly. “To come back here, after all this time.”
Althea said nothing, surprised to find tears suddenly clogging the back of her throat. It occurred to her, then, that she’d left the cabin without seeing the room where she’d been held captive, which was the main reason she’d driven out there that morning. But it didn’t matter. At that moment, all she wanted was to put as much distance as possible between herself and this place.
She glanced at her watch. It was barely six-thirty. “What were you doing at my apartment so early anyway?”
“I wanted to let you know what I learned about Suzette Thorndike, bounce some theories off you.”
Althea nodded, unlocking the car. “Sounds good. We can discuss it over breakfast—I’m buying.”
Damien smiled, slow and sexy. “Works for me.”
He held the door open for her. Grinning and shaking her head in resignation, Althea ducked inside the sedan and started the ignition, welcoming the blast of heat that poured into the car, warming her face and hands.
Through the rearview mirror she watched as Damien folded his tall, powerful frame into the driver’s side of his SUV. She’d been so preoccupied with escaping from the spooky cabin that she hadn’t noticed just how good he looked. He was dressed in a gray turtleneck sweater that clung to his broad chest and dark jeans that hugged his firm, muscled butt. Yummy.
As she waited for him to get settled in the SUV, her gaze strayed back to the old cabin. It didn’t seem as desolate and menacing now that she was no longer alone. Maybe she’d—
Suddenly Althea tensed, a whisper of unease crawling down her spine as she stared out the window. She could have sworn she saw movement inside the cabin, a shadow that passed in front of the living room window.
She stared intently, not moving or blinking, until her eyes began to sting, forcing her to close them for a few seconds. When she opened them again, there was no boogeyman leering at her from the doorway or wielding a bloody knife. Whatever she thought she’d seen a moment ago was gone.
It’s just your overactive imagination, she told herself. Being inside the cabin, after all these years, was even more unsettling than you thought it would be. Your memories and fears, combined with your overwrought nerves, got the best of you. Besides, girl, you couldn’t have seen anything. The windows are all boarded up.
Althea frowned, fighting a tremor that had nothing to do with the cold.
She knew her mind was probably playing tricks on her. And yet as she pulled off a moment later with Damien following close behind, she couldn’t dismiss the prickling sensation that someone else had been inside the cabin with her before Damien arrived.
Someone with sinister intentions.
Someone innately evil.
He watched her leave.
Hidden in the shadows of the old cabin, he watched Althea drive away from the property followed by Damien Wade, who was riding her bumper so hard he ought to be pulled over for tailgating.
The stranger frowned.
Wade was becoming something of a nuisance. First he’d shown up at Althea’s apartment last night, and now he’d appeared here, at the remote rural cabin everyone had long since forgotten about. The authorities, the media. Everyone.
Everyone but her.
He had always known she would eventually find her way back to the cabin, back to the place where it had all started. Still, he hadn’t expected to see her there so soon, on that particular morning. He’d gone there himself to meditate, guided by the spirit of his predecessor, Anthony Yusef, the visionary who had given him the inspiration for his masterpiece. He was in the middle of praying when he heard a car coming down the road. If he’d been down in the cellar—inside the Sacred Room, where Althea’s essence remained—he wouldn’t have heard the approaching vehicle. And if he hadn’t had the foresight to park in his secret hiding place on the other side of the property, she would have discovered him. And then their reunion would have had an entirely different outcome.
A regrettable outcome.
But by the time she had entered the cabin, he was hidden in an old crawl space that enabled him to observe her, undetected. He’d intended to remain out of sight until she finished what she came there to do and left. But when she had crept downstairs to the cellar, he couldn’t resist the overwhelming temptation to follow her. The thought of seeing her in the Sacred Room, a scenario he’d imagined so many times he’d lost count, gave him a rush like nothing he had ever experienced before.
But just as he had reached the doorway to the cellar, he heard the approach of another vehicle outside.
A surge of rage swept through him at the sight of Damien Wade. Interfering bastard!
Still, despite the agent’s unexpected arrival, he knew he could have taken Althea if he’d really wanted to. He could have taken her the moment she stepped through the door. He could have knocked the gun out of her hand and subdued her with a blow to the back of her head, using her own flashlight. He could have carried her unconscious body out the back door and taken her to his hideout in the woods.
But it was too soon. It wasn’t her time yet.
The successful outcome of your plan depends on your patience, he repeated the familiar mantra to himself like a prayer. It depends on your diligence. Your cunning.
After all the hard work and meticulous planning that had gone into bringing his masterpiece to fruition, he would not make the mistake of ruining everything because he was too eager. Because he could not resist temptation.
Because Althea had unwittingly walked right into his path.
He knew it would not be the last time.
And when her time came, there would be no Damien Wade, no cavalry to rescue her.
He smiled inwardly, feeling a deep sense of satisfaction.
Soon enough, Princess.
Soon there will be no one but you.
And then you will have to reckon with me.
Chapter 12
An hour and a half later, Althea was seated beside Damien in a private corner booth in the café where they had stopped for breakfast. The restaurant, located on the outskirts of Baltimore, was abuzz with ringing cash registers and the noisy chatter of morning commuters who’d stopped in to fill up on coffee and fresh-baked goods before braving the traffic.
She and Damien had waited only ten minutes for the corner booth to become available. And then, to further ensure their privacy, they’d sat next to each other with their backs facing the room so that no one could read their lips.
“So you’re telling me that Suzette Thorndike’s ex-husband could be our perp?” Althea asked after Damien brought her up to speed on everything he had learned about Patrick Farris.
Damien nodded, raising his cup of coffee to his mouth. “That’s exactly what I’m telling you. Farris has the motive and, according to the NCIC report that was e-mailed to me this morning, he already has a criminal history. In addition to the allegations of sexual abuse cited in the lawsuit by his former patients, he was also charged with three counts of aggravated sexual assault last year—charges that were later dropped by the victim.”
Althea frowned. “I hope whatever he paid her was worth it,” she muttered grimly. “Not only for herself, but for his next poor, unsuspecting victim.”
“Which may be Claire Thorndike.” Damien took a long sip of his coffee.
“Do we have a current address for the good doctor?”
“Yeah. He sold the house he once shared with Suzette—too many bad memories, I guess—and now lives all the way out in Solomon’s Island. I was thinking about paying him a little visit today. Care to join me?”
“Hell, yeah. Just try to stop me.” Althea forked up the last of her ham and cheese omelet and chewed thoughtfully for a moment.
Out of the corner of her e
ye, she saw Damien studying her profile with a soft, lazy smile. “I can see the wheels turning,” he murmured. “What’s going through that beautiful head of yours?”
Althea ignored the way her traitorous heart fluttered at his words, just as she’d been forcing herself to ignore his clean male scent and the heat and energy that radiated from his body. The moment he slid into the booth beside her and his knee accidentally brushed hers, making her belly quiver, she’d started having serious doubts about the wisdom of their decision to sit on the same side of the booth. She needed to concentrate on the investigation, but Damien’s nearness was threatening her ability to breathe, let alone concentrate.
Belatedly remembering that he’d asked her a question, she said, “I was just wondering about Suzette and Spencer Thorndike. Neither of them mentioned the ex-husband when we asked them if they could think of anyone who would want to hurt Claire. Given the way Suzette’s marriage ended, I would think Farris’s name would have made the short list of potential enemies.”
Damien nodded, conceding the point. “Maybe they didn’t think about him because I asked only about Spencer’s enemies,” he suggested.
“Still. His name should have come up at least once.”
A shadow of cynicism curved Damien’s mouth. “Maybe Suzette thinks she’s caused him enough pain and suffering. It wasn’t bad enough that she bled him dry in the divorce settlement. Maybe she thought implicating him in her stepdaughter’s abduction would have added insult to injury.”
Althea made a face. “I think you give her more credit than she may deserve. This is a woman who benefited a great deal from her husband’s downfall, and within a year of leaving him, she was married to a multimillionaire. I don’t think she does anything that isn’t advantageous to her.”
“All right. I’ll play along. How does she benefit from not mentioning her ex-husband as a possible suspect in her stepdaughter’s abduction?”
“I don’t know.” Althea pursed her lips, deep in thought for a moment. “What if Suzette and Patrick Farris are in on it together? What if he came to her and threatened to expose some dirty little secret from her past if she didn’t agree to help him recoup some of his fortune?”
“Are you suggesting that Farris kidnapped Claire in order to demand a ransom from Spencer Thorndike?”
“I think it’s highly possible. I mean, just think about it. It’s the perfect revenge. He blackmails his opportunistic ex-wife, causes her some pain and suffering, then walks away with a huge chunk of her new husband’s money.”
Damien frowned. “Whatever dirt he has on Suzette would have to be major enough to convince her to go along with a scheme like that. She has too much to lose. If Spencer finds out that she was involved in his daughter’s abduction, she goes to prison and he divorces her—assuming he doesn’t kill her first. It’s a lot for her to risk.”
“True, but maybe she can’t afford not to take the risk. Maybe the alternative—her secret being exposed—is simply not an option for her. We’ve both learned in our line of work that people will go to extreme lengths to protect their deep, dark secrets and avoid scandal. If Suzette agreed to the kidnapping scheme, she obviously felt she had no other choice. Desperate times call for desperate measures.”
Damien said nothing, absently stroking his stubbled chin between his thumb and forefinger as he mulled over her theory. He hadn’t shaved that morning, and the shadowed growth on his jaw only added to his raw sex appeal.
Stop it! Althea ordered herself.
Oblivious to her predicament, Damien murmured thoughtfully, “So the question would be, what did Farris recently learn about Suzette? He obviously didn’t have any dirt on her during the divorce proceedings, or the outcome would have been a hell of a lot different.”
Althea snorted. “Yeah. He would’ve been able to keep her hands off his money.”
Damien slanted her an amused look. “You’re pretty hard on Suzette. You don’t think she was entitled to some compensation after the pain and suffering Farris put her through during their marriage? I mean, it couldn’t have been easy for her to find out that her husband was sexually abusing his patients. I’m sure she felt betrayed and humiliated, not unlike the wives of these politicians who are brought down by sex scandals. Would you begrudge any of those women for leaving their husbands and taking them to the cleaners?”
Althea grinned ruefully. “All right. Point taken. I guess my problem with Suzette is that there seems to be a pattern with her. A pattern of seeking out wealthy men.”
Damien chuckled dryly. “Why are you dancing around the word? Just come right out and say it. You think she’s a gold digger.”
“Fine. I think she’s a gold digger. And when it comes to those types I don’t put anything past them. Hell, for all we know, Suzette might have paid her ex-husband to take Claire off her hands—permanently.”
“Anything’s possible,” Damien said. But Althea could tell by his expression that he still wasn’t sold on the idea of Suzette Thorndike being their prime suspect. He added, “I’ll dig even deeper into her background, see if I trip over any skeletons.”
Althea nodded and took a sip of her lukewarm coffee. “I should be hearing back from the MyDomain folks in a few hours—it’s still early on the West Coast. I’m eager to learn the identity of COLTRANEFAN. With any luck, he’s the mystery date we’ve been looking for.”
“We should be so lucky.” Damien glanced at his watch. “Detective Mayhew’s supposed to call me this morning to let me know what they found on Claire’s computer. That might give us some clues to work with as well.”
“I hope so,” Althea murmured. “We need all the help we can get.”
Damien said nothing, the grim expression on his face mirroring what she was thinking. Claire had been gone for nearly five days now, and so far they had no viable leads and no suspects. The countdown had begun, and time was their enemy. Twenty-four was the magic number. If the missing person wasn’t found in the first twenty-four hours, the odds against finding the victim went up with every passing minute.
But you were found, Althea reminded herself. You were missing for thirty days, and just when you had given up hope of making it out of that cabin alive, you were rescued.
She only prayed that Claire would be as lucky.
“You haven’t touched your cinnamon roll.”
Althea glanced at the saucer to her right, where a large cinnamon bun slathered with creamy icing beckoned enticingly to her. She groaned. “Oh God. What was I thinking, ordering that on top of an omelet?”
Damien grinned. “Don’t feel bad. Very few people who walk in here can resist getting one of those cinnamon rolls.”
“I couldn’t possibly eat the whole thing by myself. Want half?”
Damien shrugged. “Sure, why not? I could use a good sugar rush to get the juices flowing.”
“Long night?” Althea asked, using a knife to cut the large cinnamon bun in half.
“You could say that.”
Althea took her half, then passed the saucer to him. “Bon appétit.” She bit into the soft pastry and let out a deep, languorous moan. “Oh my God. That is sooo good.”
“Most definitely,” Damien agreed around a smiling mouthful.
Althea shook her head in amazement. “I think this is the best cinnamon roll I’ve ever had in my life. Damn, there goes my diet,” she complained.
Damien chuckled, polishing off his half and reaching for a napkin to wipe his sticky fingers. “You don’t need to be on a diet, anyway.”
She laughed. “How would you—” She broke off mid-sentence, heat suffusing her cheeks at the memory of Friday night. “Never mind.”
Damien gave her a soft, knowing smile before murmuring, “You’ve got a little icing on the corner of your mouth.”
Althea ran her tongue back and forth across her lips. “Did I get it?”
He shook his head, his eyes darkening. “Here, let me help you.”
Her pulse quickened as he reached over,
using the pad of his thumb to gently wipe the corner of her mouth. Then, holding her gaze, he licked the dab of icing off his thumb. Her nipples tingled, and her insides quivered.
“There,” he said huskily. “All gone.”
Althea swallowed hard. “Thanks.”
They gazed at each other for a long, charged moment that was interrupted by a coolly amused feminine voice. “Well, isn’t this cozy?”
Althea felt Damien tense as they turned in unison to stare at the gorgeous woman who had materialized at their table. She appeared to be African American, with a strong trace of Indian ancestry. Five foot seven, early thirties, glossy dark hair that hung past her shoulders, and an hourglass body poured into a Baby Phat knit jumper dress.
The moment Althea saw her, she knew who she was.
“Hello, Damien,” the woman said, but she was staring at Althea, her light brown eyes narrowed in shrewd speculation. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?”
Damien said evenly, “Angelique, I’d like you to meet one of my colleagues, Althea Pritchard. Althea, this is Angelique Navarro, India’s mother.”
The ex-wife.
Althea smiled politely. “Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise,” Angelique murmured, her mouth curving in a smile that was more predatory than friendly. “How long have you and my ex worked together?”
“Not very long. Today’s our second day together.”
“Really? Well, you seem to be getting along quite well,” Angelique observed, looking meaningfully at the empty space across from them. She seemed to be waiting for one or both of them to explain why they were sharing the same side of the booth. When no explanation was forthcoming, her lips thinned with displeasure.
Damien glanced pointedly at his watch. “Aren’t you going to be late for work?” he said. “It’s almost eight-thirty.”
Angelique didn’t take the hint. “Oh, I’ll get there when I get there,” she said with a dismissive wave of her manicured hand. “Now that I’ve been promoted to communications manager, I can pretty much come and go as I please.”
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