Devil's Way Out

by Nika Dixon

  Good for you, honey. A flicker of pride warmed Marshall’s blood. Whatever hell she had faced, she hadn’t given up. She had the guts and smarts to find an opening and run.

  “We might not even have known,” Romero added, “except Alexander has offered a hell of a reward to bring her back.”

  “Because if she’s been with Alexander for all these years,” Marshall mused, “there’s a good chance she knows enough about his operation to put him away for a long, long time.”

  “Which would explain the size of the reward.”

  Marshall placed both his hands on the table and leaned over the spread of pictures, studying the face of the man behind Emma’s nightmares. “You think he’s coming after her.”

  “I’d say that’s a definite,” Romero confirmed. “And as far as I can figure, she’s running on empty with no options. She’s been off the grid for fifteen years and has no living relatives. The missing-persons report was filed by child services.”

  Marshall’s heart cracked even further. Hell. A foster kid, too? She’d said she had no family, but he hadn’t fathomed just how totally alone in the world she truly was. Her story was getting worse by the second.

  Romero handed Danny a business card. “I’m betting she’s still running west. I’ll be staying in Pikes Falls for another couple of days. If you see or hear anything, Sheriff, I’d appreciate a call.”

  Danny pointed to the photos and the missing-persons poster. “Mind if I hang on to these?”

  “They’re all yours.”

  Romero picked up his briefcase and headed out.

  Marshall’s eyes moved from the poster to the photos and back again. How the hell was she even able to smile? To laugh? He wanted to know what had happened to her, what she’d endured, but at the same time he was terrified to hear it. In an instant, everything about her had become painfully clear—the way she reacted to the world as though everything was a new discovery, her lack of belongings, and her overwhelming fear.

  “Bastard,” Danny cursed at the window. “Fifteen years. Goddamn it.”

  “You’re not going to tell them where she is,” Marshall said. It was a demand, not a question. He didn’t care if every damned agent of the Federal Bureau of Suits was out looking for her. She was staying right here, where he could keep her safe. And if Asshole Alexander dared show his face in Absolution? Well, then, he was going to take care of him, too.

  Danny’s sigh was heavy with frustration. “Unless we find out what her real story is, I may not have a choice.”

  Marshall headed for the door. “Then I suggest we get busy finding out.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  “We need to talk.”

  Emma had always heard that phrase was one of the most dreaded combinations of words, but until they were spoken by the unimpressed-looking pair of brothers standing in front of her, she’d never truly understood the implication.

  Trapped in a seat at the corner of the kitchen table, she had no escape. Hank had warned her Marshall would want to talk to her about her incident with Devil this morning. She’d rehearsed her answer multiple times, but having Danny there, too, made her forget every word she was going to say.

  Marshall took the seat at the end of the table next to hers. He leaned forward then changed his mind, straightening back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. Danny was holding a couple of pieces of paper. He set them on table, facedown, then took the chair across the table from her, sliding it back and forth until he had a position he was happy with.

  They were nervous. Why were they nervous? Something must have happened. Something was wrong.

  Her heart began to knock against her ribs.

  Slowly and deliberately, Danny flipped the top paper over and handed it to her. Her fingers twitched, crumpling the corner as she recognized the picture in the middle of the page.

  The walls of the kitchen crushed in around her, and the temperature in the room rose.

  Her thoughts flew back to the crowded corridors of the central school and the deafening sounds of the ringing bell between classes and the chatter of the students as they escaped into the halls. Picture day. She’d done her best to appear normal, but it didn’t matter. She already jumped through seven schools in seven months. She wasn’t even going to pass the year, much less be around long enough to get a yearbook. But despite the sad state of her life, the photographer’s jokes were so terrible, she couldn’t help but laugh.

  Only it wasn’t the yearbook her picture had ended up in—but on a wanted poster.

  Someone had missed her enough to notice she was gone?

  She covered her shocked sob with a hand, muttering her next words into her fingertips. “Someone actually looked for me?”

  She sensed warring anger and sadness in Danny when he answered, “Your case worker filed the report when you didn’t show up after school.”

  “Case worker? I don’t remember.” Emma set the paper on the table in front of her and tried to smooth out the rumples she’d left in it. Guilt brought an acid burn to her stomach. She searched her memories for a name or a face but couldn’t recall anything. How was that even possible?

  “I don’t remember her. Why don’t I remember her? I remember all the faces!”

  Marshall reached for her hand. “Em, it’s okay.”

  “No, no, it’s not!” She pulled back from him and scratched her fingernail back and forth across the letters of her name.

  The bold type of her lie glared up at her.

  Her name.

  Her real last name.

  Which meant they knew who she was.

  Panic climbed into her throat. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to lie. The doctor asked me my name and I said Emmaline and he thought it was two words and I just didn’t correct him. It wasn’t on purpose. I—”

  This time it was Danny’s hand on hers. “It’s okay, Emma. We understand.”

  She froze. “You…you do?”

  “We do.” He pulled his hand back. “But I’m going to need to ask you where you’ve been for the last fifteen years.”

  Emma shook her head. “I can’t.”

  “You can. It’s okay. You’re safe now.”

  “No. No, I’m not.” Everything was catching up to her. But how? How had they found out? Someone must have told them. But who? More important, when and where? And was the person still here?

  She smacked her palm down on the poster. “Where did you get this?”

  Danny didn’t answer. He flipped over the second piece of paper, placing a full-size color photograph on top of the poster.

  The second she saw the face in the center, she lost hold of all feeling except a single, paralyzing, spine-straightening fear.

  Alan.

  The legs of her chair chattered when she tried to back away from the table, but the wall stopped her from getting more than a few inches. She lurched up out of her chair and jerked around to face the patio doors. Not seeing anyone outside, she twisted farther, trying to see around the corner to the arched entrance to the front hallway.

  There were no shouts, no demands, and no footsteps.

  Yet.

  She nearly jumped a foot when someone touched her arm.

  Marshall drew back, surprised. “Emma, there’s no one there.”

  She sank back and hunched down in her chair in the corner.

  Of course there wasn’t. Alan wouldn’t be here yet. He would just have them hold her until he arrived.

  Her gaze was drawn back to the photograph. Seeing herself pinched in between Victor and Vincent brought her stupidity into focus. She should never have run away. She should have known better. Alan would never give her up. She was his to keep, however he saw fit. She’d been stupid and naive to think she could have her life back just because she’d managed to exist outside his control for a few days.

  Finding this beautiful place had been a dream.

  But it was time to wake up.

  She brushed her tears away with her fingertips. Cryi
ng wouldn’t change anything. It was done. As soon as Alan arrived, she would apologize. Yes. She would apologize and swear never to run away, ever again. She would beg him to leave Absolution without hurting anyone. He liked it when people begged.

  She tried to smile, to show them she was ready to go back, but the pain in her heart made the action impossible. Her fingers betrayed her by shaking so badly it took her several tries before she could get hold of the picture to turn it over. “How much time do I have?”

  Marshall leaned closer. “Emma, you need to tell us what’s going on. Danny can’t protect you—I can’t protect you—unless you tell us the truth.”

  It took her a moment to register what it was he was implying, but the words made no sense. They wanted to protect her? From what? Alan?

  Fear for her own future was replaced by heart-stopping terror for Marshall. For Danny. For Hank and Lucy and everyone else who’d shown her kindness while she was here. If Alan thought any one of them had known who she was and hadn’t turned her in…

  Horror made the room spin. She grabbed the edge of the table, and stared hard at Danny, thinking of his wonderful family and his beautiful daughter and the evil Alan would bring. “You tell Alan you were keeping me here until he arrived. You tell him you knew who I was all along. You take the money and you hand me over and you never say his name again.”

  “Emma, it’s not—” Marshall tried to interrupt.

  “No!” She rocked her head back and forth violently. “Make the deal. Take the money. He can’t think you were helping me. Whoever he sent to take me back, you have to let them. You can’t interfere. You can’t!”

  Marshall reached for her, but she jerked back and away. “You don’t understand. It’s not me he’s going to kill, it’s you!”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  The day Emma moved into the penthouse would be forever burned into her memory. In her dreams, she could rewrite it and rewind it, talking herself out of her childish fascination with the luxurious location. No matter how many different endings she imagined, reality always won in the end.

  He told her she was adopted. That he was her new guardian. Her family. Her future. He picked her up from school in a big car with a chauffeur and showed her very important-looking adoption papers with her picture and her name. She never questioned it. Plucked from the nightmare of her seventh foster family in as many months and lifted into a glass tower where every whim of a young girl was accommodated? It was heaven.

  Alan had been her hero—a fairy godfather come to life. Wherever they went, people called him sir, and they treated her like royalty. He took her to the finest restaurants, bought her expensive jewelry and beautiful clothes, and let her live in the biggest, most amazing palace on top of the city. Wide-screen TV, game consoles, music players, and her own laptop—luxuries she had only dreamed of since losing everything after her mother died. She had her own cleaning lady, her meals were provided, and there were no chores to speak of. She could stay up late and sleep in any day she wanted. Private tutors took the horrible embarrassment out of having to spend even one more day as the new kid at school. No one told her what to wear, how to act, or what to do.

  She was a princess, and she loved it.

  God, how naive she had been!

  As her teenage years passed by, she started to question her solitary life, but for every situation she wondered about, Alan had a perfectly valid answer. She didn’t need a driver’s license, because he always had a driver on call. She didn’t need a job, because everything was provided for her. She couldn’t go anywhere without her bodyguards, because he was an important man and the city was a dangerous place. His only concession was to allow her to travel to anything art related—museums, galleries, art stores and suppliers—but only if she asked permission in advance and went with the accompaniment of her two bodyguards. She already had all the art supplies she could even imagine, the corner of the penthouse stacked with more paints, pencils, and art pads than any store. He was so enthralled by her skills, he would even bring her to meet his business associates and have her make pictures for them, too.

  She felt like a rock star. A celebrity. A queen.

  Then, on the night of her eighteenth birthday, the fairy tale died.

  That night, she finally gave in to the rebellious desire to prove to her guardian she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself. She wanted to show him she was an adult now. He could trust her to go out and return home safely without having to be escorted by the overwhelming shadows who followed her every move. She hatched her plan with the cute young doorman who made her heart beat a little bit faster whenever he smiled at her. Eric had been the one to buy the tickets to the gallery show at the museum, and the one to escort her. He even borrowed a suit from his uncle so he would fit in with the crowd—just for her. She spent a glorious night with her hand hooked in his, absorbing the images of some of the greatest painters in history and feeling on top of the world.

  He dropped her back at the building, leaving her wanting more than the nervous kiss they stole in the elevator and feeling both energized and victorious.

  Until she walked into the penthouse.

  Alan was on her so quickly she didn’t even have time to blink before his backhand sent her flying. There was no time to process the shock of the strike before his hand was in her hair and she was off her feet, being dragged back down the hallway to the private elevator. His swearing curses were interspersed with complaints that she didn’t respect him, didn’t understand everything he’d done for her, and didn’t appreciate him.

  As the elevator reached the basement, he put his hand to her throat and held her off the ground, her toes barely scraping the marbled floor. He cursed her for making him do what he was about to do, then he threw her out the open doors and into the waiting arms of Victor and Vincent.

  “I thought I was going to die,” she told Marshall and Danny. The words scratched her throat. “But I was so wrong.”

  Fighting against the cramping pressure in her chest, she took a deep breath and struggled to find the courage to explain to them what had happened next. To describe how the blood and horror had all been her own fault.

  “Alan killed him,” she whispered. She dug her nails into the edge of the tabletop, gripping it until her knuckles turned white. “Shot him. And then…rolled him into Victor’s trunk like he was…a…a bag of garbage.”

  “Jesus, Em,” Marshall whispered, reaching for her.

  She snatched her hands away from him, whipped them off the table, and rubbed them on her thighs, wishing she could wipe away the image of the bloody and lifeless body of the handsome young man. “I’m the reason he’s dead. I killed him.”

  “No, he died because Alan Alexander killed him,” Danny said firmly. “You were just an excuse for the bastard to play out his sick game of terror.”

  Game? It wasn’t a game.

  It was her life.

  And all too soon, she was going to be right back in it.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Marshall had struggled to sit still while Emma told her story. He’d wanted to take her in his arms. To tell her over and over it was going to be all right. To swear to her the psychopath wouldn’t touch her again. Marshall wanted to be the one to put the light and life and innocence back into her eyes.

  Alexander had lured a lonely, broken girl using the promise of a family and a princess lifestyle, but her fairy tale had turned into a bloody nightmare.

  Marshall wanted to kill the bastard with his bare hands.

  Danny spent a good ten minutes convincing Emma he wasn’t the least bit concerned about a guy like Alexander. Marshall hated the turn of the conversation, but he knew Danny wasn’t trying to upset her without purpose. They needed answers, and pushing her buttons was the only way they were going to get them.

  She took the bait and began to answer their questions with real information, but her voice was now an emotionless monotone. There was no life left in it, just weary resignation. She
stared miserably at the photo of Alexander, her shoulders hunched and her hands twisting in her lap. She spoke to the picture, as though Danny were speaking to her through it. She responded with details and punctuated each reply by referring to Danny as “sir.”

  It was driving Marshall crazy.

  Emma had never known her father, then she’d lost her mother in an accident, leaving her alone in the world. After spending nearly a year in foster care, she’d landed a dream come true—a rich adoptive father who had given her everything. Until the dream turned into a living nightmare. Alexander hadn’t adopted her—he’d stolen her.

  “You said he hit you that night,” Danny clarified. “But he hadn’t before?”

  “No, sir.”

  Danny shifted his weight in his chair, the next question coming with difficulty. “And after that night?”

  Marshall’s heart raced. He didn’t want her to answer. He wasn’t ready to hear it.

  “At first,” she confessed. “But he doesn’t like to. He’s afraid to hurt my hands. If he does, I can’t draw.” She rocked her head back and forth. “He hurts other people instead.”

  “Other people. Who?”

  Tears began to trail down her cheeks, hanging on her chin before dripping down onto her hands. Marshall stared at his brother, willing Danny to call it off, but Danny shot him a warning glare.

  They needed to know everything.

  Emma sniffed and plunged forward. “The maid. Maria. She tried to ask about the locks on the door. She didn’t like that they were backward—keeping me in, not keeping people out. Victor—Victor cut out her tongue before he killed her. And Isa. One of my tutors. I accidentally told her I hadn’t been outside all winter. I didn’t mean to. I wasn’t paying attention, and it just slipped out. She asked Alan about it, and she never came back. I thought she was just replaced. Then Alan showed me a picture. She was dead. Frozen. In the snow.”

  Marshall could tell Danny was furious over what Emma was revealing. Danny was having a hard time keeping a professional expression on his face as he wrote down the two names with such a heavy press of the pen, he was almost carving the letters through to the next page.