by Lora Leigh
He hadn’t died. His mother, Eileen Callahan, had sold him to a wealthy couple out of Boston for enough money to save her husband and her ranch.
Now, at forty years of age, the adopted son of a renowned Boston surgeon and his socialite wife, the other man amused himself with the covert lifestyle he’d learned in the CIA.
A covert lifestyle that had been focused on finding the identity of the man, or men, called the Slasher for the past twelve years.
The other man, Deputy John Caine, was another story.
“I asked what the fuck was going on here?” Archer repeated himself, anger brewing in his tone as well as his senses.
“Sorry, Sheriff,” John muttered as he turned fully from the map of the Slasher’s kills. “We had to be damned sure we could trust you before I revealed who I was and why I was here.”
“Who you are?” Archer leaned against the edge of his desk, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring back at the younger man.
“It was my order, Archer,” Ryan told him. “When I found John, he was packing for Corbin County. I had his identity changed and used my contacts to build his history. And I ordered that he hold the truth back from you when he would have told you.”
“Why?” Archer growled.
“Because you’re too close to the man we’ve been investigating,” John answered. “Ryan and I both wanted to be certain, as close as you were to him, that you wouldn’t reveal what we told you.”
“Who the hell is he?”
Archer could feel the fury really beginning to build in him now.
First he’d get the name, then he’d teach Ryan and John both the error of keeping such vital information away from him.
“You can’t go after him, Archer.” Ryan rose slowly to his feet.
“Do you want me to kill you instead?” Archer asked carefully.
“I guess you’ll have to,” John sighed. “You’ll give me your word you’ll help us continue the investigation without revealing what you know, or we’ll walk out of here. And if we do, then we may never find his partner until he actually ends up killing again.”
“Then you haven’t identified both men?”
All he needed was one of their identities; he could beat the truth about his partner out of him.
“We haven’t yet,” Ryan agreed, his deep blue eyes somber. “Come on, Archer. You’re an officer of the law. You know how important the proof is. Give me your word. I won’t play games, and without it, I’m going to walk out of here in about ten seconds flat.”
Archer turned to John.
“I can’t, Archer.” John obviously read the determination in his eyes. “I’ll leave the County first.”
Was he willing to let it walk away?
“You have my word,” he snarled. “But you’ll damned well get out of my way once we find him.”
“You’ll get there first or stand in line,” John bit out furiously then. “Let me tell you why I’m here. I walked into my mother’s home four years ago and found her tortured, raped, and murdered. The MO was the same as the Slasher’s. Exactly the same. Except I knew the only fucker searching for her and it wasn’t a serial killer, and she sure as hell wasn’t a Callahan’s lover. My sister lay in her bedroom—my fucking teenage sister—all but dead. As far as he knows, she is dead. He’s already struck at my family and, by God, I will have my piece of him first.”
For the first time since he’d known him, the cool demeanor and cynical mockery were wiped away, replaced by a rage that Archer knew well.
“Who is he? I gave you my promise,” he snarled.
“My biological father.” John’s voice was guttural, burning with such fury that Ryan flinched. “The son of a bitch that fathered me and hunted my mother like a fucking animal in his efforts to find me. Wayne Sorenson.”
It was a damned good thing he was sitting.
Archer stared at the deputy in shock.
Not because he’d named Sorenson as a suspect. Archer had a file on him as well. It wasn’t knowing the County attorney was a killer, it was knowing John was his biological son.
“He caught up with her in Canada, just after we returned from France with my stepfather and half sister.” John’s tone was ragged and edged with pain. “She’d changed her name, but somehow he’d managed to find it. My stepfather and I were arranging for a private flight back to France when he found her and my sister. She didn’t survive it. My stepfather barely survived it.”
“Hell!” Raking his fingers through his hair, Archer turned and moved behind his desk.
Once there, he picked up the side and moved it back to reveal the safe hidden beneath it. Pulling the door back, he quickly keyed in the digital code, opened the steel door, and pulled a file free.
Leaving the safe open he moved to the front of the desk and handed the file to Ryan.
“It details the last twelve years of the investigation,” he told the two men as the deputy stood beside the other man, leafing through it. “Everyone he associates with and their backgrounds as well. If I could tie him to just one person, if I could find so much as a hint of suspicion that they could be his partner, then I’d have enough to convince the governor to issue a sealed search warrant.”
“You don’t have several men in here that we’ve seen sneaking into his home,” Ryan said quietly. “Benson Markle, Tiberius Graeme, and Amory Wyatt. I’ve run all three of them, and there are gaps in their lives that can’t be accounted for. Graeme was actually missing for days after four of the girls were kidnapped twelve years ago. Markle was missing during the last three. Neither Amory nor Graeme even existed before they came here, but I’ve had several hints from some of my overseas sources that Wyatt may be National Security and could, or could not be, on a case.”
“Amory lives several houses down from me,” Archer mused. “I’ve not seen him do more than basically say hello or good-bye to Sorenson. Markle is just a bastard. I’ve had him under investigation for the past six years for other things, though I’ve never seen him with Sorenson, or Graeme—” His lips pursed thoughtfully. “It’s not Graeme, I’d bet on it.”
“Why’s that?” Ryan stared back at him intently.
“Graeme’s in the Witness Protection Program,” he revealed. “What he was, or might be into now, I don’t know for sure, but I know the Marshal that oversees his case has had him out of the County giving depositions somewhere each time he’s been missing.”
Ryan nodded. His hair, a darker blond than Archer’s, fell over his brow before he pushed it back.
“That leaves Markle and Wyatt,” he stated. “What do you think about those two?”
“It could be either of them,” Archer admitted. “Markle is as cold as a blizzard. He puts fucking ice to shame. He attends the socials, but he hides and watches from the grottos rather than joining in. Wyatt’s quiet, keeps to himself, and as far as I know he’s never had so much as an argument with anyone. But, like you said, before coming here, he didn’t exist.”
“If you had to pick, which one would you say it is?” Ryan asked.
“If I had to pick, Markle,” Archer answered after a moment’s thought. “Amory Wyatt’s a friend of the Corbin family. He and Anna’s father go hunting a lot together, and he’s made himself a part of the community. Markle, on the other hand—” Archer shook his head. “I could see him killing without mercy.”
“I’m meeting with my nephews in a few days’ time,” Ryan sighed. “And I’ll tell you now what I’ll be telling them. Earlier this summer, in my cover as an assassin, I accepted a job in Corbin County. I met with the buyer in a cabin in the mountains. He wanted the Callahans, their lovers, and anyone with so much as a chance of having conceived one of their children, dead.”
“Did you ID him?” Archer felt the fingers of one hand curling into a fist.
He nodded. “It was Dave Stone.”
“The fucking realtor?” Archer questioned in disbelief. “What the hell does he have to do with this? Besides, he moved just last week. W
ent to stay with his daughter in California.”
Ryan shook his head. “He’s being detained in California. The story that he was moving was put in place by the FBI. Evidently he was besotted with Crowe’s mother before she married David Callahan. He saw it as some sort of fucking twisted revenge to kill the Callahans when his illegitimate daughter, Jennifer Whitt, was killed by the Slasher.”
Archer wiped his hands over his face wearily before facing the two men again. “How do we know he wasn’t the partner?”
“Because his whereabouts can be placed at the time of each girl’s murder,” Ryan informed him. “Once we’ve identified the Slashers, then we’ll have the charges against him made public and have him brought back to Corbin County for trial.”
“What proof do you have that Sorenson could be involved in this?” Archer asked him then.
“What proof do you have?” Ryan countered.
Archer’s lips thinned. “Twelve years ago, my father learned he disappeared for at least twelve hours during the time each girl was missing, except Jaymi Kramer, Cami’s sister, but we’ve always known Thomas Jones went after her on his own. Before the witnesses who saw Wayne leaving town could be deposed, they died suspiciously.”
“Keeping a tail on Sorenson is how I’ve managed to find each girl that’s been killed since.” John sighed wearily. “Tracking Sorenson. He’s slick though. I’ve never caught him with the girls or near the areas they were found, but I know he was out when they went missing.”
“Katy Winslow?” Archer asked sharply.
“We believe Katy was in the wrong place at the wrong time.” Ryan breathed out roughly. “The castings and pictures we took of the tire treads where she was found indicate two vehicles were there with her at the time. She caught them meeting, and they couldn’t let her go after that.”
“One of the castings is to a very rare tire,” John revealed then. “We’re having it run now, though nothing’s hit yet. We’re also checking the area for any property any of the four men might own close enough to use as their kill spot. We’re getting closer, Archer, but he’s making some damned stupid moves lately. We’re worried he’s escalating to the point that he could strike against Anna again, and the next time he might actually manage to kill her.”
“Why Anna?” Archer snapped then. “What makes her so important that he’s kept her out of Corbin County since she was a child?”
Ryan frowned. Holding the file loosely with one hand, he scratched his cheek with the other in confusion.
“This is new information for us,” he revealed. “We were going under the assumption she had been targeted because of Crowe.”
Quickly, Archer filled the two men in on the story the “Barons” had given him.
As he spoke, and then answered the few questions the two men posed, he admitted to himself there had to be something far deeper going on.
“I’ll see what I can find out about her.” Ryan spoke as he nodded slowly. “There’s something she knows, or possibly something she saw as a child, that threatens him.”
“Amelia Sorenson’s her best friend,” Archer pointed out. “Maybe that’s why he put off killing her.”
“She wasn’t when Anna was younger,” Ryan argued. “But you’re right about her being a threat if he’s kept her away from the County this long.”
“And he’s breaking pattern,” John injected. “Becoming erratic. She’s enough of a threat that he can’t afford to wait much longer.”
“We’ll get moving on this,” Ryan promised, lifting the file. “Can I keep this?”
Archer shrugged. “I have another hidden in another location. Just in case.”
Ryan’s lips curved in approval. “I like that about you, Archer. You always have a backup plan.”
“A plan isn’t going to do me any damn good if he manages to hit Anna again. Nor will it do the two of you any good,” Archer warned them both as he uncrossed his arms and straightened from his position against the desk. “Because I’ll kill, gentlemen. I promise you that. If she dies, there won’t be any stopping me.”
“Just make sure you help me keep those damned nephews of mine on a leash after I talk to them,” Ryan sighed, heading for the study door. “And if anything happens to your woman, Archer, I can’t say I would blame you.” He paused at the door before opening it, turning back to Archer as the deputy moved in behind him. “I couldn’t blame you at all.”
CHAPTER 15
Three days later, Anna lay silently in the bed she still shared with Archer and stared up at the ceiling as dawn began to peek through the narrow openings of the curtains.
It was supposed to be a little cool today. It would be a perfect day to go outside, weed the flower beds Archer seemed to have neglected lately, or perhaps even go back to work.
Brute Force had given her a two-week leave of absence—paid, Mikhail Resnova had assured her—to allow her to heal from the bullet that had been lodged in her thigh.
It had stopped just below the skin. It hadn’t touched bone or a vein. And despite the potential explosive power of the ammunition, it hadn’t gone off. All it had done was ensure she was laid up for a few days.
No one had asked for a two-weeks leave though. A few days would have suited her just fine.
She was ready to go back to work now.
That stupid doctor had demanded weeks though. Two weeks of nothing but rest.
She would go stark raving mad.
Turning her head, she looked at the clock next to the bed on her side before pursing her lips thoughtfully.
“Are you going to work today?” she asked Archer, keeping her voice low in case he was asleep as he lay beside her quietly. “If you are, you better get up or you’re going to be late.
“Not today.” He surprised her. “I thought we’d take a drive out to Rafer’s ranch, where Resnova and his men are overlooking the protection and security of Rafe and Logan’s fiancées.”
Now didn’t that sound ominous?
“Do you think you’re going to convince me to stay there?” she asked suspiciously.
Archer turned his head to her at that point, his golden brown eyes narrowed on her as she met his gaze.
“Ivan’s come up with some new information.” Lifting his upper body, he grabbed the pillow under his head, fluffed it, then pushed it against the headboard before reclining against it. “He called after I came in last night and requested the meeting. I thought you might enjoy visiting with Cami and Skye for a few hours while I’m there. No ulterior motives, no evil designs.”
He rubbed at the scattering of curls on his chest as he smothered a yawn and glanced toward the weak sunlight spearing through the edges of the curtains. “Dress warm,” he tacked on. “Rafer’s ranch isn’t much lower than Crowe Mountain, and Crowe’s already started getting snow there.”
Sitting up, Anna pulled the blankets over her gown-covered breasts as she bent her knees and rested her arms across them.
“Snow already?” She sighed, thinking how much colder the evenings would become.
“A little.” Leaning back, eyes closing drowsily, he acted as though she weren’t even there as he asked her, “You want to shower first, or you want me to?”
What had happened to showering together?
“I’ll go ahead.” She shrugged, moving slowly from the bed as she stifled the bite of painful emotions that tightened her throat.
What had happened?
It was obvious he didn’t want her anymore. But Anna knew that without asking. Three days and two nights. He hadn’t touched her even once. He hadn’t even kissed her.
She hadn’t been ready to leave. She hadn’t been prepared to lose him this quickly.
But even more, Anna hadn’t been ready for the breaking of her heart.
*
Stifling a groan, Archer watched as Anna limped painfully into the bathroom. Her slender hips moved seductively, if jerkily, beneath the gown, her rounded thighs a shadow of temptation beneath the white spandex and nylon th
at hugged her upper body, then swept around her thighs and legs in yards upon yards of silky material.
She wasn’t wearing panties. As she’d lain sleeping, the blankets thrown from her body, he’d glimpsed the dark shadow of the curls at the very top of the small mound between her thighs.
Teeth clenched, his jaw bunched, Archer reached beneath the blankets and wrapped his fingers around the head of his cock.
He’d been forced to jack off the last two nights. The wound at her outer thigh, though not extremely long or deep, was clearly still painful if the way she walked was an indication.
Tightening his fist around the engorged head of his dick, it was all he could do to keep from masturbating to hold back the hunger eating him the fuck alive.
God, he wanted her.
Eyes drifting closed, he could see her lying back in his bed, those beautiful pearly thighs wide open, knees bent to allow her heels to dig into the bed and lift to his voracious lips as he ate the satiny, bare folds. Her juices would lie thick and lush and so sweet that the thought of it filled him with a sexual hunger he wondered if he could restrain much longer.
Three days and two nights. Sixty hours of pure, unimagined hell lying next to her, holding her against him because he couldn’t sleep without her warmth against his body.
Not that he’d done much sleeping. All he could think about was the taste of her hot little pussy and the tight, clenching hold of it around his shuttling cock.
God, it wasn’t as though he hadn’t fucked her the night before the attack. And the morning of the attack. If he could have, he would have fucked her pretty, pouting lips the minute he’d closed the door on the world outside the afternoon she’d been shot.
Now she was hurt, in pain, and all he could think about was paddling her pretty rounded ass, then fucking it with a need that threatened to overtake him.
Almost uncontrollably his fisted fingers stroked down the thick, hard shaft as it flexed with furious hunger at the thought of fucking her so intimately. Of having that tighter than tight little entrance furl open around his penetrating cock. He ached to clench his fingers in the rounded globes of her ass, to part the curves and watch his possession of her.