Dying for Love (A Slaughter Creek Novel)

by Herron, Rita

  Only she might not like what she learned.

  He studied the foster home from his vantage point where he’d parked on the street, searching for the best way to get inside. His phone buzzed, a startling sound in the quiet of the storm. His second-in-command.

  He hoped to hell the man was following orders.

  “What happened to that Devon kid?”

  A Honda rolled by, and he ducked low so the driver wouldn’t see him.

  “He tried to escape. We moved him to the rehabilitation facility for further training.”

  That was the last step. The kid’s last chance.

  “Buried a guard, though. Asshole tried to help the kid get away. We had to make an example of him.”

  His breath rushed out in the harsh night. “I understand.”

  “If Zack doesn’t conform soon, we’ll move him as well.”

  “Fine. But remember, he’s hands off.”

  “Of course.” A hesitation. “Did you find a replacement for the Wesley boy?”

  Excitement of the hunt sparked inside him, and he rubbed his injured leg where it throbbed. “I’m working on it now. Will be in touch.”

  Still, caution made him hold off. It was dangerous to snatch another kid so soon. But he had his calling. And so did the Brotherhood.

  Chapter Six

  The graveyard stood amid the woods, eerie and dark. Ghostly shadows floated between the bare trees, the images shimmering against the white snow.

  Cemeteries always reminded Amelia of the loved ones she’d lost.

  She could practically hear the cries of the dead in the shrill wind. See the gruesome skeletal bones reaching up through the dirt begging to be saved.

  See her tiny baby’s remains lying on the satin . . .

  John placed his hand at the small of her back. “Perhaps you should step away while we open it, Amelia. You might not want to see this.”

  A cold sweat raged over her body, but she steeled her back and shook her head. “No, do it.” She would face whatever they found. She’d have to.

  John gave them the signal. Snow and ice fell away from the coffin as they opened it.

  Amelia’s breath caught, a chill skating up her spine.

  Only a teddy bear lay inside, macabre-looking against the blue satin pillow where it had been locked away beneath the ground, forgotten and unmourned, as was the little boy who was supposedly inside.

  The teddy bear was clean though, well preserved, almost as if it had been purchased new before being placed inside.

  As if someone had wanted to honor the baby it was meant for.

  She swayed slightly at the thought. That bear . . . it was just like the one her alter Bessie used to have.

  Arthur Blackwood had put it inside as some kind of cruel message.

  John cleared his throat. “Burying the teddy bear probably indicates that whoever did this . . . cared.”

  It took a moment for her voice to work. “No, it was a taunt to me. My child alter Bessie always slept with a teddy bear just like that one.” Amelia swallowed back her revulsion. “He must have thought that one day I might remember and come looking for my baby.”

  John’s expression darkened. “I’ll have forensics look for evidence linking the teddy bear to the Commander or an accomplice.”

  Another scenario made Amelia’s throat thick with fear. What if the Commander or one of his cohorts took her baby because he was disfigured, or mentally or physically challenged?

  Blackwood’s techniques twisted normal men into soldiers who would have no remorse over killing innocents as a casualty of their cause.

  Her heart ached as she watched the workers load the casket to transport to the lab. “I thought when the Commander died and Six was arrested, it was finally over.” She turned to John. “But it’s not. I can’t rest now until I find out what happened to my son.”

  The scent of damp earth beneath the snow suffused John, the biting cold stinging his hands. He kicked off the dead flowers that had landed at his feet, his eyes glued to the hearse as the men drove the casket away.

  Was Amelia right? Had the Commander put that bear in the coffin as a message to her?

  The missing children cases he’d worked blurred together, the common denominator being the fear that nearly incapacitated the parents.

  Fear of the unknown and the endless, heinous possibilities of how their child might have suffered.

  Guilt compounded the emotions.

  Now Amelia was feeling all those things. The Commander’s sick way of continuing to torture her even though he was gone.

  A parent’s job was to protect their offspring at all costs. To fail brought unspeakable pain, grief, and a sense of failure that was impossible to overcome.

  And if that child was found dead . . .

  Hell, it went against the natural order of life for a parent to bury a child.

  “I’ll get to the bottom of this,” John said, knowing he could no more walk away from Amelia or this case than he could quit searching for the truth about his own past. Because if Commander Blackwood had hurt Amelia’s baby or used him as an experimental subject as he had Amelia, the child might still be in danger.

  And if he hadn’t, if he’d given the child to a couple to adopt, Amelia deserved to know that, too.

  If the child was alive at all.

  He braced himself for Amelia to fall apart. If she was as unstable as reports had indicated, he might have to call her shrink.

  “Thank you,” Amelia said.

  He hardened himself. “Don’t thank me yet. I have conditions. You have to be honest with me. If you remember something, if one of your alters takes over, or if one of them knows the truth, you have to tell me.”

  Her jaw twitched slightly as if she was trying to deflect the blow he’d given her, making him feel like a heel.

  Dammit, he had to set some rules though.

  He’d investigated too many cases where parents or friends of the family had lied to him, leading him in a thousand different directions chasing false leads.

  He wasn’t in this for the parents but for the children. He didn’t sugarcoat anything or worry about hurt feelings.

  “Where do we start?” Amelia asked.

  “We don’t start anywhere,” he said, determined to make it clear that he worked alone.

  “But I have to help,” Amelia said. “We’re talking about my child.”

  “Then work with your therapist and see what other memories you can recover.”

  “I will do that,” Amelia said, as if that was a given. “But I need to know what’s going on.”

  The temptation to comfort her needled him, but touching her would be a mistake. A dangerous attraction to her loomed in his gut and spiked his blood.

  They were both too troubled, both had too much baggage. Both were lost souls.

  His head pounded just trying to remember his past, a reminder he was running from dark secrets.

  Amelia had suffered so much that she deserved someone whole. Someone who could give her the life and family she wanted.

  “Trust me to do my job, Amelia.”

  A bleakness clouded her eyes, as desolate as the gray skies above. “I don’t trust anyone, John. That’s one lesson I learned a long time ago.”

  He didn’t blame her, but he could not let himself get suckered into caring about her.

  She was a case, nothing more.

  Despite the fact that her sweet feminine scent was intoxicating, he tried for logic. “You came to me for help, remember, so let me do my job. But I’m warning you—not every case turns out well.”

  Amelia squared her shoulders. “I don’t expect a happy ending,” she said, her voice sad. “At least not for me.”

  Dammit, that made him want to help her find closure so badly his chest throbbed. Made him want to
give her that happy ending.

  But he gritted his teeth, biting back false promises. The last thing he wanted to do was tell her he’d bring her child back when the truth was, they had no idea if the child was even alive.

  Amelia wrestled with her emotions as she parked at Sadie’s house and walked up to the front door. The shock of finding that empty grave had given her a chill that wouldn’t ease.

  What else had Ms. Lettie and the Commander kept from her? How much more would she have to endure from that horrible man?

  Footsteps sounded inside, dragging her from her shock.

  The snowman Ayla had built seemed to wave to her from the front yard. Sadie and Jake had probably helped, adding a carrot nose and one of Sadie’s scarves. Amelia imagined the family out throwing snowballs and rolling them to make the snowman, and her heart ached.

  She wanted a family like that. But if her little boy was alive, he might not even know she existed. What had Blackwood told him about her?

  That she didn’t care or want him?

  That she would have been a terrible mother?

  Was her little boy in danger, being drugged and tortured like she’d been?

  She shuddered, nausea rising to her throat.

  But she swallowed the bile and punched the doorbell. Guilt pricked at her when she looked through the window and spotted Sadie coming to the door.

  What kind of sister had she been that she’d neglected to visit her new nephew?

  Admittedly at times, she’d felt like Sadie had deserted her, but Amelia understood why her sister had left town years ago, and no longer felt that way. Guilt dogged Amelia like a demon, though. Because her sister had suffered the stigma of being the twin of a lunatic.

  Yet their bond was strong, the very reason she’d first believed her dream was about Sadie and her newborn.

  Sadie’s face glowed with radiance from newfound motherhood as she opened the door.

  “I’ve missed you,” Sadie said as she reached for a hug. “I thought you’d come by when we first got home.”

  The heavenly scent of cinnamon and apples filled the air inside. A homey scent that reminded her of Gran.

  Amelia’s throat thickened. Jake had been right to tell her not to worry Sadie. “I figured you needed some time with your family first and didn’t want to intrude.”

  Sadie’s smile wilted slightly, and she pulled Amelia inside the foyer. “You’re my family, too, Sis.” Sadie squeezed her hand. “And you’re never intruding. I moved back here to be with Jake and you.”

  Amelia was touched. “Thanks, Sis. By the way, motherhood agrees with you. You look beautiful.”

  Sadie gave a self-deprecating laugh. “Yeah, right. I’m still in maternity clothes, I’m sleep deprived, and I haven’t even showered today.” She ran a hand through her tousled hair. She was wearing sweats and no makeup, but she still looked happier than Amelia had ever seen her.

  Amelia warmed at the sight of the fire roaring in the fireplace. “But that little guy you brought home is worth it, isn’t he?”

  “Absolutely.” Sadie tugged at Amelia’s hand. “Come and see Ben. He’s sleeping, but it’s almost time for him to eat again.”

  Amelia followed Sadie to the den, a cozy room with lots of throw pillows, a comfortable couch, and a toy corner for Ayla, complete with a kitchen set and doll cradle.

  Unlike her own home, there were no dark paintings of Alcatraz or prisons or death in Sadie’s house. Only paintings filled with the deep, rich colors of the mountains in fall, a landscape of the creek in winter, a light watercolor depicting spring with Ayla running through a sea of wildflowers, and a bright, sunny painting of Jake and Ayla digging in the sand on a beach with the ocean glimmering in the sunset.

  Ben was sleeping on his back in a bassinet in front of the window, a pale-blue blanket wrapped tightly around him, a tiny white teddy bear tucked beside his arm. Amelia couldn’t take her eyes off the bear.

  “Isn’t he beautiful?” Sadie whispered.

  Amelia blinked back tears. The fresh scent of baby powder and newborn suffused her. “Yes, he is.” Slowly she laid a gentle hand on his chest.

  Ben wiggled beneath the blanket, his tiny hands curled by his face, a squeaking sound coming from him as he stirred.

  Sadie stroked the baby’s cheek. “I can’t believe he’s finally here. I . . . don’t know what I’d do if anything ever happened to him.”

  Amelia tensed. “I can understand that, Sis. But Ben is safe, and you and Jake are wonderful parents.”

  Sadie brushed at her eyes, where tears had formed. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. One minute I’m giddy with happiness, the next I’m terrified I’ll do something wrong. Sometimes I sit and watch his chest rise and fall just to make sure he’s breathing.”

  Amelia didn’t blame her. “Hormones,” Amelia said, trying to comfort Sadie.

  Sadie laughed. “You’re probably right.”

  The baby whimpered, and Sadie gently scooped him up. “Do you want to hold him before I nurse him?”

  A deep breath caught in Amelia’s throat as the memory of begging to hold her own son surfaced.

  “He won’t break,” Sadie said, oblivious to the turmoil eating at Amelia.

  Sadie eased the infant into Amelia’s arms, and she cradled him close to her, rocking him gently back and forth. He whimpered, then opened his eyes, squinting at the light as he kicked at the blanket.

  “He’s so precious.” Amelia smiled at the way he curled his little hand next to his cheek. He felt so sweet in her arms, so tiny and innocent, that love for him overwhelmed her.

  Sadie wrapped an arm around Amelia and hugged her. “He’s going to love his aunt.”

  Amelia brushed at a tear. Would he?

  If her son was alive, would he want to see her? If he knew about her mental illness, would he be embarrassed that she was his birth mother?

  “What’s wrong?” Sadie asked.

  God, she wanted to confide in her sister.

  But that would be selfish.

  The baby squirmed again, saving her from answering when he began to fuss.

  Amelia traced a finger over the newborn’s soft dark hair, noting his features. Jake’s square chin and blunt nose. Sadie’s eyes.

  “Ah, it’s okay, buddy, Mommy’s going to feed you,” Sadie said softly.

  A hollow emptiness filled Amelia as Sadie took the baby from her, and she turned away so Sadie wouldn’t see more tears in her eyes.

  Several pictures of Ayla, from birth to kindergarten, hung on the wall. The photos chronicled the little girl on holidays, and as she learned to crawl and walk. Ayla’s mother had abandoned her when she was small, leaving Jake to raise her alone.

  In the last photo, Ayla, Jake, and Sadie posed together, beaming at Sadie and Jake’s wedding.

  Sorrow wrenched her heart.

  Her son would have been about the same age as Ayla.

  Maybe the doctor who’d delivered her baby had taken him because he knew she was crazy. Incompetent. That she couldn’t take care of herself, much less a child.

  Maybe her son was better off where he was, never knowing about her.

  John shook off his concerns over Amelia as he stepped inside his office and punched Agent Liz Lucas’s number. He’d heard Liz was considering taking a leave from the TBI, that she and Rafe Hood were marrying and adopting a little boy. But she had connections that might help him.

  Besides, it wasn’t his problem to worry over how Amelia would take the bad news if his investigation didn’t turn out as she wanted.

  And in spite of the fact that she’d claimed she didn’t expect a happy ending, he knew that deep down she hoped for it.

  That was human nature.

  Still, she’d learned the horrors of people and life, and he couldn’t blame her for wanting the truth. If he were
in her place and his child had been taken, he’d do everything humanly possible to find the kid.

  The phone trilled a fourth time, then Liz picked up. “Agent Lucas.”

  “Liz, it’s John.”

  “What can I do for you?”

  “Didn’t you work with a social worker regarding files related to the CHIMES project?”

  “Yes, why?”

  “This is strictly confidential, but I have reason to believe that Amelia Nettleton may have given birth while she was locked in that sanitarium.”

  “Good heavens.”

  “The nurse who drugged her admitted that Amelia delivered a little boy.” He explained about the exhumation and finding the coffin with the teddy bear. “Forensics is processing the casket and bear. I need you to ask your contact if she can track down the names of any baby boys born on July fourth of that year. There might be a record of an adoption.”

  “I’ll call her office, but actually she took a leave of absence. I’m working with a new social worker named Helen Gray,” Liz said. “I’ll have her phone you.”

  John’s other line buzzed. “Thanks. I’ve got another call coming in.”

  John punched connect to answer the call. “Agent Strong.”

  “John, it’s Coulter. There’s been another kidnapping.”

  Hell. “Another child?”

  “Yeah, a boy just like the others.”

  Chapter Seven

  The bad weather forced John to slow his speed, making the drive to the foster family’s house longer than it should have been. Worse, a tree had fallen in the middle of the road, making it impassable, and he’d had to turn around and find an alternate route.

  He parked in front of the house and cut the engine. Snow had piled on the roof and frost coated the windows, icicles dangling from the awnings.

  The house had once been white but now looked dingy yellow. Toys, a sandbox, and a rickety swing set were scattered across the fenced-in yard.

  His mind raced. They’d known Billingsly hadn’t been working alone.

  Fuck. Billingsly’s partner had probably taken this kid.