Savage Cinderella

by PJ Sharon

  "I think it's still too dangerous, Brinn. Let's just stick to the plan." He glanced over his shoulder. Cody’s large shadow loomed behind some shrubbery thirty feet away. "Besides, I think Cody is finally feeling useful again." He and Brinn shared a smile and the two walked for another little while before Justin stopped and turned to her, the silence having grown thick with their respective thoughts.

  "Brinn, I've been wanting..." He paused, his breath catching in his throat. "Would it be all right if I kissed you?"

  His brown eyes held a tender expectation that made Brinn's heart melt and beat furiously all at once. She looked away for a moment, feeling his hands tense on her shoulders and then she smiled up at him. "I was wondering when you might."

  Justin’s face relaxed and they stared at each other for an uncomfortably long moment. He stepped closer, kept his hands very still, and focused on her lips. He tilted his head slightly and moved in with slow deliberation, sending her pulse racing. His lips brushed the corner of hers so lightly it was barely a breath. Then he drew back to watch her response.

  Brinn kept her eyes open, wide with wonder. She wanted to see only Justin. Her lips tingled as they curled up into a tentative smile. When his lips dipped and touched hers again they felt soft, wet, and warm. The sensation set her heart fluttering and her nerves twitching with...desire.

  Her whole body wanted him. From her toes all the way to the warm fuzzy sensation in her head, she wanted to melt into him. She closed her eyes and fell against him, her hands reaching for the soft waves of chestnut hair that felt like silk between her fingers. She gripped him and deepened into the kiss. She imagined she was falling down a waterfall, being carried by the force of nature into a deep pool of blissful surrender. He tasted sweet, like the apples they had eaten earlier, and his smell was like that of spring rain—clean and fresh, with just a hint of the soothing spice underneath.

  His hands wrapped around her waist and he held her tight against him. She waited for the panic, but instead she was consumed with comfort and safety, as if becoming a part of him could save her from belonging to anyone else. Brinn opened herself up to the sensations that roared through her body, parting her lips and searching tentatively for his tongue, wanting to commit the taste of him to memory.

  Justin responded, touching her tongue with his in a gentle, intimate dance that brought feverish heat to her body. Then something shifted. Panic rose up inside her and exploded to the surface. She pulled away, breathless and panting.

  Justin immediately released his hold on her. "I'm sorry, Brinn. I didn't mean to...it's just that I...I'm sorry." He said again, at a loss for words and breathing heavy.

  She hated that he felt a need to apologize. Why had she pulled away? She wasn't afraid of him. She trusted that he wouldn’t hurt her. Frustrated by her confusion, Brinn turned away, looked out over the quiet lake, and observed the families in paddle boats and fishermen enjoying the calm, hot summer's day. She shivered against a sudden chill, her stomach quivering uneasily as she scanned the strangers’ faces.

  Dismissing the sensation, she turned back to Justin. "Please don't be sorry, Justin. You didn't do anything...wrong. I'm just a little confused, that's all." She looked down at her boots. "Kissing you felt...good...more than good." Warmth flushed her cheeks as she went on. "It makes me want to do more than kiss you, though. Is that bad? It feels right, but...I’m afraid.”

  Justin caught the corner of his lip between his teeth before a self-conscious smile retreated from his face. He stepped closer and Brinn took a small step toward him so he would know it wasn’t him she was afraid of, but the feelings that blistered under her skin. He took both of her hands in his and met her gaze.

  "What you’re feeling isn’t bad or wrong. It's totally normal. I feel the same way, but it doesn’t mean we have to do more. We just have to figure out where the boundaries are...for both of us.” He stood close enough for Brinn to feel the heat radiate from his body and she breathed in his scent. More than anything else, Justin made her feel safe and wanted. His voice was soft as he searched her face. “When the time is right—when you’re sure, and when you’re ready—we’ll get closer. I’m not going anywhere, and I’ll wait as long as it takes." He touched her cheek, his hand cool against her hot skin. "And when the time comes that we both want more, it will be gentle and beautiful, and you’ll feel only my love for you." He captured her eyes with the heat of his gaze.

  "I want so much to believe that, Justin," Brinn fell into his arms again, resting her head against the comforting warmth of his chest. She was speechless. Could it be true? Did he say he loved her? He wanted her? And he would wait for her to be ready? Happiness flowed through her in a gust as if the wind had blown all the dust from the corners of her soul.

  More determined than ever to put her past behind her, Brinn began calculating a plan of her own, one that did not include an audience, she decided, as she heard the low rumble of a male chuckle from the bushes.

  Chapter 24

  Stealthy Stalker

  High atop a nearby cliff, Roy Stockman looked on, binoculars trained on the young couple. They were easy enough to follow from the girl's home in Buckhead, but Stockman was growing more impatient and uneasy as the days passed. Disabling the security system and slipping a dose of ketamine into a couple of guards’ coffee was one thing, but with her home so closely watched now, he couldn’t get to her there. He’d almost been caught once already.

  A thrill ran through him. She’d known he was there. He could feel her fear through the door. He wondered how much she remembered of her time with him. "You’ll never erase my mark, Little One," he whispered.

  The boy kissed her and then she turned away. She looked out over the lake—directly toward the stand of high shrubs where he crouched and froze. A look of confusion and pain darkened her features.

  Aching with frustration to possess the girl again, he ducked deeper into the hedge. He couldn't follow too closely with the melon-headed muscle they had on their tail, or the suits that followed in the distance. If the two meddlesome kids hadn’t interrupted him at her house, she would be his now. He would have to wait a little longer. Eventually, her guard would be down and he would have his chance. He glanced at his watch, noting the date and time. He had to retreat back to his house soon and take care of matters there, but that was all the better to establish his alibi should the need arise. He’d talked his way past cops before and if there was one thing he was good at, it was getting around security. He’d learned to get through almost any defense. It was just a matter of time. Time. And waiting, and watching.

  Seeing Brinn pull away from Justin gave him a sense of satisfaction. She would never feel a man's hands on her body and not think of him. He had marked her and it didn't matter how much time passed, she would always belong to him. He watched through the binoculars. She was frowning and there was a serious look of desperation on the young man's face. The boy wanted her; it was clear. The idea sent blood boiling to the surface.

  "Sorry, Son, she isn't yours, and she never will be." When Brinn turned back to Justin and fell into his arms, every nerve in Stockman's body fired. He let out a string of curses that sent two older women who were hiking past him scrambling to give him a wide berth on the trail. He gained control of himself and once more found the raven-haired girl and her companion in the view of his binoculars. When the couple continued on the pathway, Stockman pulled up roots and followed along the cliff's edge.

  He kept his distance, blending with the hikers, naturalists, and families out enjoying the state park's pristine trails and hills. He had shaved for the occasion, eliminating any traces of the face she might vaguely recall, once bearded and scruffy. Whenever he was on a hunt, he was clean-shaven, well-groomed, and innocuous as a lamppost.

  He smiled at passersby and nodded casually at small children, making faces at them when their parents were otherwise engaged. The children would giggle and he smiled in return. He could have any one of these little lambs, he considered,
as a troop of Brownies brushed by, chattering and giggling in their little blue uniform tops decorated with patches and pins.

  He corralled his attention back to the field glasses that brought Brinn and Justin into focus. His eyes held fast to his prey. He had not been successful over the years without learning to curb his appetite and avoid distraction. Besides, his rule was that he could only have one at a time. He’d have to dispose of his other little prize when he brought this one home. He couldn’t have them combining forces against him.

  These were lessons he’d learned from his father. When he died, Fernell Stockman had left him a legacy that included a compulsion to possess young girls, and a cattle ranch complete with a slaughterhouse. The drugs he kept for tranquilizing the animals had come in handy.

  Not one for doctors or public officials, the old man refused treatment of any kind. Instead, he expected his only son to care for him at his bedside until the bitter end when the cancer took over. When the old man started coughing up blood and could no longer get out of bed, he had begged his then twenty-two year old son to end his suffering. With little argument, and his heart colder than even he could have imagined, he held a dirty pillow over his father's face until the struggling stopped and the lifeless body was empty of breath. Roy would have used those drugs first if he’d wanted it to be painless, but Fernell had earned his death.

  It was a relief, really. Like a heavy burden had been lifted from Roy’s shoulders. There would be no more cruel criticism, no more beatings, and no more feeling like he’d never measure up. He was tired of being nothing but a painful reminder of his mother’s sins. He buried the old man out behind the shed next to the woman who had abandoned them both, marking the spot with nothing but a plain flat stone. There was no love lost between father and son. The old man was a miserable bastard, but once he was gone, Roy was alone. Loneliness was its own cross to bear.

  Stockman had to admit he'd at least learned how to survive from his father. The old man had taught him everything he needed to know about running the slaughterhouse attached to the barn. He taught him how to deal with paperwork and clients. It was Roy’s idea to take the night watchman’s position part-time. It supplemented his income and gave him a legitimate excuse to wear a uniform that earned him some respect.

  His father hadn’t lived long enough to test that theory, but at least the locals regarded him as a solid citizen. No one questioned his reclusive lifestyle as long as he plastered on the friendly smile and charm that disarmed even the curious busybodies at the local grocer. People were suckers for a compliment or a stupid joke. He knew how to tell people what they wanted to hear—to convince them he was something he wasn’t.

  Most importantly, Fernell Stockman taught his son that women were weak, helpless creatures. That they should be shown their place from the time they were young or they would grow up and become faithless whores who would betray a man at every turn.

  Roy had grown up with that lesson literally burned into his flesh, his father's fury at his mother's betrayal fueling the cruel rule of thumb he lived by. Annabelle Stockman had died in childbirth, committing the worst act of betrayal his father could fathom: she’d left him, and Fernell Stockman had cursed her soul and taken it out on his son every day of his life.

  Roy watched Brinn approach the car across the parking lot. The young man opened the door for her and then climbed in on his own side. They pulled out of their spot followed by the jarhead in the pickup who was obviously there to keep trouble at bay. Two dark sedans fell in behind. Stockman grimaced and fell into line far behind the caravan of vehicles, his own car dirty, but not too dirty, new, but not too new. He had to be careful. If she’d told the police everything she could, they’d have found him already.

  He couldn’t afford to watch and wait for the day when she would be alone and vulnerable again. He needed to find a way to get close to the girl and shut her up for good. For now, his only objective was to keep his secrets safe.

  Chapter 25

  Picture Perfect

  "That's the same car as in the other picture. Wait—back up. Yes, there it is again—the gray Buick." Brinn’s father pointed out, reviewing the slides over Justin’s shoulder. The face of the driver was indistinguishable, but the car was definitely a match. Justin bookmarked the photos and moved through the next slides one at a time.

  They sat at the kitchen table huddled over Justin's laptop. "Stop!" Brinn yelled. Justin backed up a frame.

  Brinn stared wide-eyed, scrutinizing the people in the crowded background. It was a shot taken in front of a restaurant in midtown. The face looked only slightly familiar, but the eyes captured her attention. The cold black glare was trained on her as she posed alone in front of the statue of a winged horse, smiling easily and unsuspecting of her stalker. A tingle ran down her spine. It was him. He no longer had his dark beard, but the shape of the face was right, the thin lips and dark, slicked back hair that formed a widow's peak high on his forehead. And those eyes...

  Brinn swallowed, her throat going dry. "I think that's him." She closed her fists tight in an effort to curtail the shaking that crept into her limbs and the hair that rose on the back of her neck.

  Justin wrapped a protective arm around her shoulder. "He can't hurt you anymore, Brinn. We won't let him." Her father nodded in silent agreement while Justin expanded the photo and zoomed in on the face.

  “Print that up. I'll run it through the national database." Her father’s voice had taken on a note of cautious enthusiasm. “Go back to the photo of the Buick. Can you zoom in on the license plate?" Justin found the photo and tapped the screen, which instantly enlarged the car's front bumper, clarifying the numbers and letters. “Print that up as well,” her father said. "Have you thought about putting your photography skills to use for the police department?"

  Justin looked up at the man, his expression half joking. "I don't think I'd be happy taking pictures of dead bodies and crime scenes." He glanced at Brinn, a sparkle coming to his eyes. "I prefer to use my talents to capture nature's beauty." He hit the print button.

  Brinn wanted to take comfort in the presence of the two determined and capable men at her side, but the knot in her stomach doubled as the face of her tormentor rolled out of the printer in vivid clarity.

  Chapter 26

  Capturing the Enemy

  Brinn sat in the waiting room listening to the conversation that was escalating through the crack in the open door. She and her father had come to the Atlanta Police Commissioner's Office for answers, and her father was determined to get them. His voice rose and Brinn flinched at the anger in his tone. "What do you mean you can't arrest him? Roy Stockman is our man!"

  After running his license plate and picture through every possible data base, and doing some serious cold case digging, Brinn’s father had found out that Roy Stockman was the son of Fernell Stockman, a man suspected in a missing person’s case twenty-five years before. The man was ruled out after his son confirmed his alibi and the only witness could not pick him out of a lineup. No witness, no body, no evidence, no case. It appeared that the apple hadn’t fallen far from the tree in this instance and that Roy Stockman had taken over where his father had left off.

  Brinn could see the two men and hear every word of the conversation from her seat outside the Commissioner’s office. Commissioner Paulsen rubbed the sweat from his brow. "He's out of our jurisdiction, John. I have to hand the case over to South Carolina State Police."

  "Who’s in charge there? I want this handled carefully, but I need this guy in custody, now. You know Brinn won't be safe until this psycho is behind bars!"

  "He'll be picked up on suspicion, but I'll bet he lawyers up quick." Bud Paulsen sat back in his chair folding his hands over his paunchy midsection. His white shirt was wet from perspiration, no match for the August heat of Atlanta, even with air-conditioning. Brinn strained to hear what the two men were saying. "My first priority is getting him off the streets," Paulsen said.

  "I’m glad we'r
e on the same page." Brinn saw the tension drop from her father’s shoulders.

  "I've made it clear to Chief McCafferty of Special Victims, who is handling the situation in South Carolina, that bringing this guy in is of the utmost urgency. But you know as well as I do that Stockman will be out in a day if we don't have more than Brinn's ID. And if there is any doubt on her part, he could walk." The big man sat forward, steely gaze narrowing conspiratorially. "What we need is to get a search warrant, gather evidence, and make an arrest. I'm sure that with the proper documents in place, and a bit of leverage from some higher-ups, Chief McCafferty could be persuaded to expedite procedures—in the spirit of interstate cooperation, of course."

  John shook his head at the balding, round-faced commissioner. ”I know as well as you do the political games that play out between the courts and this department, despite our common goal of ridding society of scum like Roy Stockman.” He rubbed his brow. “I hate politics.” Then he shook his head. “The fact that the criminal justice system often ends up working out better for the criminals because of the incessant red tape is the reason I took this job to begin with. I’ve got a few connections. If it’s a warrant you need, I’ll get it. We can't give him a chance to slip through our fingers." Her father’s frustration was mirrored in Paulsen's heavy sigh.

  "A lot is riding on your daughter's ID. Everything else we have so far is circumstantial."

  John leaned across the table, knuckles planted in fists on the desk. "When Briana went missing, I gave up my Senate seat and spent whatever it took to follow up every lead, no matter how small, to find her. I couldn’t sit up on Capitol Hill and wait for someone else to suffer the same way my wife and I had—the way Briana had.” His voice grew softer, more controlled, but Brinn could make out the words he said by watching his lips. Her heart ached for the torment in his eyes. "After years with no leads, I’d almost given up. But the possibility that she was still out there somewhere made me want to keep fighting.”