by Karen Rose
Moore was sober. “Promise us you won’t do anything resembling trading yourself or Detective Mitchell will put you in protective custody.”
Dana knew Mia would do it, too. “You have my word.” She could feel their collective tension lessen. They’d been waiting for her to come out of the bathroom to convince her not to do something criminally stupid. “I understand that I’d just make things worse if I did.”
Clay looked over at Ethan. “That was a hell of a lot easier than you said it would be.”
Dana’s eyes flew to Ethan. “Excuse me?”
Moore rolled her eyes. “Maynard, don’t you know discretion is the better part of valor?”
Ethan’s glare was sharp. “Thank you, Clay.”
Clay’s lips twitched. “You’re welcome.” He patted the empty chair at his side. “Now come have a seat, Dana. I want to know if you’ve seen this tattoo on Sue’s shoulder.”
“I already told Mia and Abe that I saw the tattoo on her ring finger and just a glimpse of the one on her shoulder, but let’s take a look at those pictures. It might jog something out of my memory.” Dana sorted through them, shaking her head. “She’s covered this tattoo up with makeup, hasn’t she? Makeup she stole from Evie. Evie couldn’t leave the house because her makeup was gone.” She swallowed hard. “Evie thought I’d taken it.”
“Why would she think that?” Ethan asked, his voice gentle, and Dana wished he’d get up and put his arms around her as he’d done earlier in the Vaughns’ suite. Tell her it would be all right. Lie if he had to. But he kept his seat, the desk effectively separating them.
“I told her not to leave the house, because I thought Goodman was out there. Instead, the threat was inside, where I forced her to stay.” She looked down at her hands again. Wrong place, wrong time. Bad decision. My bad decision. For which Evie would pay.
“Dana, look at me.” She did, finding his eyes on her, softer. Not angry anymore. The knowledge sent relief shimmering through her. “Does Evie know you love her?”
Dana’s throat closed. “Yes. I told her. This morning, the last time I talked to her.”
“Then that will be enough to sustain her until we find her.”
Clay cleared his throat and Dana realized she and Ethan had been staring at each other across the room. Ethan looked away and Dana felt her cheeks heat again.
“I think we’re done for now,” Clay said. “We all need to sleep.”
“This is where I say good-bye,” Moore said. “I fly back to Maryland tomorrow.”
Dana plucked at the Boston PD sweatshirt. “Your clothes.”
“Send them back with Maynard. He’ll visit the DA with me when he comes back.”
Clay looked absolutely thrilled by the prospect.
Dana frowned. “They’re not going to be charged, are they?”
“Well, that’s up to the DA, but I kind of doubt it. I plan to pay another visit to Bryce Lewis tomorrow. Now that I know the right questions to ask, he should be a little more compliant.” She paused, her hand on the doorknob, sober. “When this is all over, come down to the bay. There’s something about listening to the waves that soothes pain.”
Clay stood up when the door closed behind Moore. “I’m calling it a night,” Clay said. “Ethan, can you toss me a carton of that lo mein from the fridge?”
Ethan looked at the fridge, two arm spans away. Then looked at Clay with narrowed eyes. “Get it yourself, Maynard.”
Smiling, Clay did. A look at Dana’s puzzled face had him chuckling out loud. “Good night.” He went to the adjoining room and she and Ethan were finally alone.
Dana felt awkward as a teenager as she turned to where Ethan still sat, his hands folded on top of the desk, his jaw taut. “Go to bed, Dana. I’ll sleep out here.”
Dana took a step forward. “Ethan, if you’re still angry with me—”
“I’m not,” he interrupted. “I just have a lot on my mind. I’ll see you in the morning.”
He didn’t look tired. He looked mad. But he was an adult and she’d leave him with whatever thoughts were so important that he needed to be alone. “Fine.” She was gratified to at least see him wince as she said it. “Good night.” She went into the bedroom and closed the door, half expecting him to come rushing in, apologizing for his mood. But long minutes passed and he did not, so she gave up and went to bed alone.
Chicago, Thursday, August 5, 12:15 A.M.
Sue crept up the stairs in the old apartment building. The old woman must be in good shape, she thought, being able to manage a three-flight walkup at her age. Her name was Jackie Williams and she’d been Randi Vaughn’s neighbor eleven years ago. She was also the one who’d told the police where to find Sue eleven years ago. Randi Vaughn had called the cops initially and Sue had hidden while Donnie and the boys were arrested. For two days Sue had hidden. But when she came out, Jackie Williams was watching. Just waiting to squeal to the cops. And she had.
She was next on Sue’s list. The revenge would fit the woman’s crime. Jackie Williams had watched, then talked. In an hour’s time she’d be doing neither of those things again.
Chicago, Thursday, August 5, 12:15 A.M.
Alec had no idea what time it was. It might still be Wednesday. If it was Thursday already, morning was still a long way away. It was still dark. He’d been alone under the bed for a long time. She’d put him here after retying the ropes that Evie had tied too loosely. There was something wrong with Evie’s hand, he thought. The way she’d fumbled had made the Bitch angry. She’d tied her and forced her into the bathroom. Then the Bitch had returned, that evil smile on her face. And Alec knew that she’d killed Evie, too. She’d dug his medicine from her bag. Let him see it, then just smiled and tossed it back. He needed that Keppra, he knew it. Without it he’d be seizing in a few days.
He had to get away before then.
She’d taped his mouth so he couldn’t scream and rolled him under the bed. It was a whole lot mustier than the life jackets in the closet Cheryl had tried to hide him under. Cheryl. He had to stop thinking about her. He couldn’t cry. With all this dust he was already stuffed up enough. Any more and he’d suffocate.
He was afraid. Afraid under the bed and more afraid to roll out. If she was there . . . She’d killed that woman, that friend of Evie’s. Just like she’d killed Cheryl. Just like she killed the doctor. He shuddered as he did every time he thought of the old doctor and the fingers in the cooler. She’ll kill me, too. It was easier to stop there, to not think about what else she could do with that knife. The knife was scarier than the gun.
A spider crawled over his face. It was the third, he thought. Maybe the fourth. He’d gritted his teeth against the need to scream and made himself remember that stupid flash card with the dopey-looking cartoon spider Cheryl had used to make him practice the word. Spy-dur. Again and again. Say nothing, Cheryl had said and now he thought he knew why. The Bitch knew he was deaf. But she didn’t know he could speak. His mom didn’t really know. Nobody had known but Cheryl. They’d made progress, she’d said. They’d been practicing “Big Mac, fries, and a Coke,” so he could walk into McDonald’s and surprise his mom by ordering his own meal.
But he’d never tried it with anyone else. Never tried to use his words. He didn’t know what they really sounded like. Cheryl said progress, but she could have been lying. He could sound stupid and nobody would ever understand him. But Cheryl didn’t lie. She’d been brave. She’d tried to protect him. And now she was dead. I owe her better than lying afraid under this bed, Alec thought and prepared for the worst.
He rolled out from under the bed, half expecting the Bitch to be standing there, looking down, like she’d stood there and looked down at him in the closet. But nobody was there.
The air was better here, but he still couldn’t breathe. He could see the bathroom door from where he lay. He knew Evie was behind it. Alive or dead, he wasn’t sure. He’d be able to get away better with her, though. And she’d protected him, too. He couldn’t
just leave her here if she was alive. If he could stand up against that door, he’d be able to twist the doorknob and see. He breathed through his nose, drawing as much air into his lungs as he could. And started to scrunch his way toward the bathroom door.
Chicago, Thursday, August 5, 12:30 A.M.
Dana didn’t want sex. She wanted intimacy. Last night there had been someone there to hold her when the nightmares came. Today, she’d been able to hold the nightmares at bay for close to twelve hours now by staying awake, staying busy. She’d kept herself from thinking about where they were. If they were unharmed. Please let them be unharmed.
Now in the quiet of the night, the dreams would come. They always did and tonight she had new ones to add to the queue. She rolled to her back. Stared at her hands. She’d had blood on her hands today. Sandy’s blood. When she dreamed, she’d have blood on her hands again. And she’d wake up, breathing hard, crying inside.
And she’d hoped tonight she wouldn’t have to be alone when she did.
But Ethan had a right to be alone, if that’s what he wanted. He’d been through a lot today. Finding Alec, losing him again. Facing the despair of his friends and confessing his sins to two cops and a . . . What was she? Girlfriend? Maybe. Fling? Probably. Lover?
Definitely. And her lover was planning to sleep alone with no pillows or blanket. At least she could give him that. Gathering up two pillows and the extra blanket in the armoire, she opened the bedroom door.
And stood there, stunned at the sight of Ethan Buchanan standing rigid in the middle of the room, stripped down to his shorts, eyes clenched shut, jaw so taut a muscle twitched in his cheek. He’s in pain, she thought, then her eyes slid down his perfect body and widened in shocked awe. No, not in pain. In boxers. That didn’t come close to containing him. Only one word came to mind. Mercy.
His eyes closed, Ethan smelled the soap she’d used in the tub, just as he’d smelled it when she’d emerged from the bathroom in a cloud of fragrant steam. He heard her quick indrawn breath. And knew it was way too late to hide behind the desk again.
“I’m sorry,” he said, turning to where she stood holding a pillow and a blanket. A second pillow lay at her feet. Her eyes were wide, her breathing uneven, and he was disgusted with himself. He’d startled her, on top of everything else she’d been through.
She swallowed hard. “Why?” Her voice was husky and deep and sent fire licking across his skin. Made him want to shove her up against the wall and take her where she stood. Just as he had the entire damn time she’d been in that damn bathroom, soaking naked in that damn tub. Then naked under that damn terry robe. Then naked under Moore’s too-small sweats that showed off every damn curve.
“I . . . I didn’t want you to feel pressured.”
She nodded slowly, her eyes still wide. “I see.” She visibly collected herself and bent over to retrieve the pillow from the floor. “I brought you these. The sofa is uncomfortable.”
“Thank you.” He took the blanket from her hands and held it up against himself. Gritted his teeth. “Dana, go to bed.” Before I take you there myself.
She stepped back. Stopped. Her tongue came out to wet her lips and he gritted his teeth in response. “You . . .” She pointed at the desk. “All that time?”
His teeth grinding, he nodded. “I’m sorry, Dana. I know this isn’t the time, but I’m a guy. I’m just wired this way. I can’t see you in the bathtub without wanting you.” He took a step back. Clutched the blanket a little tighter. “Please, go to bed. I’ll be fine. Just go.”
Silently she did and he exhaled the huge breath he’d been holding. Let his hands holding the blanket sag. It had been a hell of a day. No relief. Then the door opened and up went the blanket again, a piss-poor shield.
“Ethan, I have a confession to make.”
Wary, he only tilted his head and waited.
“Last night, when I came here, it was for two reasons. One, Mia had told me not to go back to Hanover House, that it wasn’t safe. But mostly, I needed to be with someone. I’d just found out about Dr. Lee and I needed . . .” She looked away. “I came here looking for physical contact. I wanted you to hold me. I wanted you.” She gave an awkward shrug. “When I woke up last night, I was having a nightmare.”
He remembered the little cries, the way she’d thrashed in her sleep. “I know.”
Her eyes shot up to his, suddenly panicked. “You do? How? What did I say?”
The notion that she’d talked in her sleep disturbed her. “You didn’t say anything.”
The little slivers of panic in her eyes eased. “Well, anyway, I woke up and you were there. You made me forget my nightmares. I wanted you to know how much I appreciated it.” She put the pillows on a chair. “Good night, Ethan.”
“Dana, if you have nightmares tonight . . .”
Her smile was brief and tight, her eyes now shadowed. “Why should tonight be different from any other night? Different theater, same movie. Good night, Ethan.”
He’d meant to let her go. He really did. He watched her close the door, even threw the pillows on the sofa. She hadn’t said, Ethan, I want you. Ethan, come to bed with me. Ethan, come inside me until neither of us hurts anymore. He tossed the blanket to the sofa with a sigh. No, she’d thanked him for holding her last night. He’d done a hell of lot more than hold her and they both knew it. He’d licked and sucked and caressed every inch of her beautiful body until she’d cried out again and again.
But tonight that wasn’t what she needed. He opened the bedroom door, found her standing at the window, looking out at the night. Looking so very alone. And scared. She didn’t turn when he came in, didn’t say a word when he stopped behind her.
But her body shuddered when he wrapped his arms around her waist. He kissed the side of her neck and rocked her gently, careful to keep their bodies separated below the waist. He had only so much control. “We’ll find her. Don’t stop believing it.”
“She’ll be scared,” she whispered. “Like before. I don’t want her to be afraid, Ethan.”
“What happened before, Dana?”
“It was Caroline’s ex-husband. He wanted to get to Caroline and Tom and used Evie. She was needy and he exploited it. But she figured out who he was. So he . . .” Another massive shudder shook her. She was holding herself so rigid he thought she’d crumble.
“It’s all right. You don’t have to tell me.”
“He raped her, Ethan. Horribly. Then he cut up her hands and her face, strangled her, and left her for dead.”
“Who found her?” he murmured, although he thought he knew the answer.
“I did. She was living with me then. She was on the bed . . . There was so much blood.”
He thought of the way she’d stared at her hands covered in Sandy Stone’s blood that afternoon. Detached horror he’d thought then. Now he understood. “But you saved Evie.”
Her laugh was brittle. “Sure. I called 911 and the paramedics came. She almost died twice on the way to the hospital, but they brought her back.”
“They caught him, Winters?” Please say they caught him.
“Yes.” There was a wealth of information in that one satisfied word, he knew. But there would be time for that later. “He went to jail and somebody stabbed him to death.”
“So justice was done.”
“Sure it was,” she said bitterly. “He died and Evie had to go on. She’s had plastic surgery on her face, reconstructive surgery on her hand. Therapy. Physical, emotional. Half her face is still paralyzed and she’ll never have children.”
“But she’s gone on.”
“Yeah, in the dark. In the house. She won’t go out in the daytime, won’t associate with people her own age. She takes classes online for a career she has no hope of achieving. She wants to counsel kids, but they’re afraid of her. They see the scar on her face and cower.” Her voice broke. “It’s devastating, Ethan. And now, she’s with Sue. Another maniac with a knife. Can you blame me for being willing to do anythin
g to protect her from that?”
He brushed his lips across the top of her head, his heart breaking for her. “No, I can’t.”
“I know it was stupid to want to trade. I know it won’t do any good. But I think of Evie and Alec and . . .” A sob broke free, her shoulders started to shake. “I just can’t stand it.”
He turned her in his arms. “I know. I know.” Her tears were flowing freely now, somehow made more devastating because she’d been so strong.
“I know I’m being selfish, that you’re just as worried about Alec.” Her hands were fisted against his chest. “Ethan, he’s just a little boy. If I’d done something sooner—”
“She would have killed you,” he interrupted firmly. “She is intent on whatever this plan of hers is. You could not have stopped her.”
One fist pounded weakly against his chest. “I could have tried.”
“Then you would have died,” he said flatly and she went still. And said nothing. His heart froze at the meaning he read into the gesture. “Is that what you wanted, Dana?”
Wearily she pushed away. Wiped her face with her sleeve. Rubbed her forehead. “No. I may be stupid, but I’m not suicidal.”
No, not in the traditional sense, he thought. “Do you know why I was angry earlier?”
She sighed. “Because I told Mia to arrange a trade. I got it, Ethan. Dots connected.”
“No, that wasn’t it. Offering yourself as a trade might have been a brave thing to do, a sacrifice even. If you perceived there to be a downside.”
She looked up through her lashes, the motion not the least bit coy. “What?”
“You offered yourself automatically. As if there had never been any doubt in your mind.”
“There wasn’t,” she said between her teeth. He was making her angry. So be it.
“Why not?”
She turned on her heel and went into the bathroom. He followed, watched her splash her face with cold water. “Is your life worth so little that you offer it without a thought?”
Her hands paused under the water, then shaking, turned off the faucet and grabbed a towel. “You’ve known me four days, Ethan. You’re hardly qualified to judge.”