by Em Petrova
As soon as the building came into view, Hepburn locked his gaze on it. His gut hurt. Dealing with crimes committed against other people was hard enough. But this? Fuck, he wasn’t sure how much he could handle.
When he blasted into her apartment and stormed into her bedroom, the police investigators were snapping pictures of the photographs spread over Sascha’s bed.
“Hep. Hep?” Penn’s harsh voice penetrated his head, and he realized he’d hit his knees at the sight of all those photos that he’d never suspected were being taken.
“I failed. I didn’t protect her.”
“Gasper, get him outta here.”
Gasper grabbed his shoulder and pulled Hepburn to his feet. He swayed before bracing his legs.
“Gimme your device,” he ordered Gasper.
He extended it to him, and Hepburn snatched it up. He jumped into action, accessing the university website and obtaining the names of every person who ever came into contact with Sascha, including personnel at the coffeeshop she frequented.
When he reached one photo, his heart flipped.
The guy he’d passed outside the apartment, only he wasn’t wearing glasses this time.
Expanding the image, he said, “This is our guy.” He held up the device. The two police investigators, Penn and Gasper all stared at the screen.
“Emerson Clark. Age twenty-seven.”
One of the officers found his address immediately and dispatched cars.
Hepburn threw another glance at the bed covered in photos, a shudder of repulse mixing with a deadly determination that the minute he found this guy, he’d send him straight to hell where he deserved to be.
“Gasper, keep calling Sascha’s phone. She might give us a chance to track her. Goddammit.” A darkness threatened to swallow him again, and he battled through the moment.
“I got something on him.” Penn’s hard tone made them all turn to him. He glanced up from his own screen. “He was denied military enlistment for mental health reasons.”
“He’s got a vendetta. He gets close enough to pick off the military officers and then goes for their fiancées, wives or daughters,” Gasper added.
Hepburn couldn’t speak—his jaw locked shut on a torrent of pain that, once unleashed, wouldn’t stop.
Penn looked at him. “I’m making this your call. You’re the shadow. Where would you hide a woman if it were you?”
They were in a film class together. He knew with a marrow-deep suspicion that this dude was part of the critique group she’d mentioned.
“I’d take her to the place where I met her. The campus.”
Penn gave a hard nod. “Let’s roll.”
When Sascha came to Alaska, she sure as hell hadn’t signed up for kidnapping. But here she was, stuffed in a cramped, airless trunk being transported to God knew where.
She tried over and over again to recall the events in order as they took place. She saw the photos on her bed. She ran for the door but only got a few steps.
Things blurred after that—she punched, kicked, bit and tore at Emerson’s flesh with her nails. She ripped off hefty chunks of flesh with her talons. Next thing she knew, he dragged her outside. Then he told her in a low, terrifying voice exactly how he would kill her.
Or maybe he curled her hair with his gruesome account of taking her clothes off and photographing her right before he killed her. After that, he hauled her outside kicking and fighting. She couldn’t quite remember anymore.
Her stomach twisted, and she dragged in a deep breath to keep from vomiting. Being stuck in a trunk with a pile of her own puke, rolling helplessly side to side in the tight confines, sounded like an even worse way to go out.
As they bumped along the city streets, she tried to remember the number of turns, the lefts and rights. If she ever got out of here, she’d prefer to identify her surroundings to find help.
Mind going immediately to River, she moaned out. Please find me.
She must have inhaled too much incense in her apartment to believe she could communicate telepathically to him. But love made that possible sometimes, right? She’d watched enough TV to start believing it could be true. If two people loved each other so much that their souls bonded…
Her stomach hurt. So did her ankle, which she must have twisted in her struggle to get away as Emerson dragged her. She’d fought with everything inside her, but nothing could keep him from tossing her into the trunk and slamming shut the lid.
Another right turn. Where was he taking her? She thought back on the occasions they’d sat around Maggie’s coffee table eating pizza and drinking sodas, laughing over jokes only nerdy film students understood.
Some of those pictures had been of her caught unawares, biting into a slice of deep dish pepperoni. Or captured mid-laugh.
The photo that chilled her the most had been taken in that hallway at the concert.
Her skin pebbled in goosebumps. That Emerson had stalked her and River to the concert and watched them having sex in that hallway they believed to be private…
She shut the thought away.
Focusing on the streets once again, she tried to map out the city in her mind. She didn’t know it very well, being new to town, but she spent enough time on buses that she made a guess that he might be taking her to the university.
The sick, twisted bastard. What were the chances that she met up with a loony serial killer taking out men in the military and the women in their lives? Now she could add unlucky to her list of traits, right up there with clumsy and lacking confidence in her abilities.
She never even got a chance to watch the bits of film she’d pieced together.
That last body of work might be her legacy. She may never have a chance to see the finished project…but she hoped it finally showed her passion.
She became very aware of the engine whine and rumble of tires on the road. Each bump they hit either made her bounce, roll or bruised her hip and shoulder.
She knew for a fact her phone still sat on the table beside her laptop. She had no way of contacting River or calling 9-1-1. Nobody knew she was out here with a crazy person.
Not even River.
Her getting upset over him disliking her documentary now seemed trivial. She wished she hadn’t reacted so strongly, but she’d never faced anything like that before. Her brother had been so encouraging, even if she only filmed some silly dance routine she and her girlfriends made up.
The other students had picked up what he did, though—that lack of love for her work showed on the screen, saying loud and clear that she wasn’t truly putting her heart and soul into it.
They made another turn, and her mind shifted to trying to remember the last words she’d spoken to her momma. The ones she and River exchanged hurt too much to do more than skim across them and try not to touch down and cause more pain.
When the car geared down and she shifted toward the rear of the trunk, she knew they were stopping.
How long did she have left?
She wished like hell for a tire iron or some weapon to brain Emerson with the instant he opened the trunk, but after feeling around for half the ride, she couldn’t find a latch to pull up the flooring and locate one.
What she wouldn’t do for that bear spray right about now. River was right—she should carry it with her at all times. Too late now.
She had no weapon, but she refused to lie down and let him kill her without putting up a fight. Women were always taught to go for the eyes, throat and groin. She readied her hand, holding it in a claw, prepared to gouge and rake until she lost another fingernail.
Far worse could happen.
It seemed to take forever between the car stopping and when the trunk opened.
Fresh air flooded her nostrils as she reared up and swiped at his eyes with her nails.
Emerson dodged her strike, grabbed her wrist and twisted her arm until she yowled.
He slapped her face. “Shut up, Sascha.” His calm, normal tone used for critiques or simply a
sking to pass him a soda brought her to the edge of fear.
Her heart pounding, she lashed out again, hurling herself at him, hoping her body weight would throw him to the ground. But she fell to the pavement instead, bruising her face and both knees.
Realizing her mouth was free, she opened it and shrieked for all it was worth.
Moments—or maybe hours—later, she woke in a dark room. She sniffed. She recognized that scent.
They were in the film lab.
“Oh good—you’re awake.” Emerson’s eerily normal voice made her start shivering until her teeth chattered behind a gag he’d tied around her mouth.
Her cheek pressed into a bristly carpet. On the wall in front of her was the big screen in the film lab, where students displayed their work. Where she’d show her short piece on how the military did more than make boys into men. It bonded them in brand-new ways and gave them a family to count on.
Why did she care about any of this right now? She was about to die. A glance up at Emerson showed her he held a weapon and aimed it straight at her temple. In the other hand was a remote, which he aimed at the big screen the minute he knew she was conscious enough to watch.
“I hope you enjoy tonight’s feature film. It’s been over a year in the making.”
The video rolled, and a man’s face appeared on the screen. He was smiling into the camera. He said something joking to another person out of view. The next scene began as out of focus, far away. A pinprick of light widened to a circle and then all at once, the world was clear.
Chilling.
A death scene played out before her, something out of a horror movie. She squeezed her eyes shut, and Emerson bellowed, “Watch!”
She popped her eyes open and stared at the screen, but she tried to direct all her attention to the bottom right corner and watch the shapes moving there without really seeing what came next.
She couldn’t stop her gaze from drifting to the content, even as her mind recoiled from it. Three men were shot one after another. Then the screen went black and text filled it.
The ones who didn’t die.
Another shooting and a knife attack. She couldn’t watch anymore—she’d go mad. Her breaths came so fast that her lips grew numb and her fingers tingled in the ropes he’d bound her with.
He kicked at her, boot connecting with her upper thigh. She screamed behind the gag, and Emerson grabbed her by the hair, yanking her head back and forcing her to look at his very dead, unfeeling eyes.
When he was sure he had her attention, he dropped her head. Her cheek bounced off the stiff carpet again, and she whimpered through several more minutes of footage too gruesome to connect with humans.
“That guy,” he said conversationally, as though he was reviewing a film and munching popcorn, “was pretty satisfying. He looked like my father. He was my first victim.”
Sascha drew her knees up toward her chest.
Emerson continued, “I never got him on film, though. I wasn’t in school then. I only tinkered with a home movie camera. No one ever knew he died at my hands. Not even my mother.”
If she weren’t gagged, she might throw up. Her stomach heaved.
The movie continued, and she blocked it out until the moment when a man’s photo slid onto the screen.
River. He stood at the site of what looked to be an explosion. A car’s twisted blue metal was the only indication of where the bomb may have been.
“I wanted to take out two with one blow, but your boyfriend failed to show up in time. I didn’t get the ratio of explosives quite right, either.” He tapped his lips with a fingertip in contemplation. “Missed the old Lamont woman too. Bomb was too weak.” He turned his head and smiled at Sascha as if she should praise him for his skill—or lack of.
The smile never reached his eyes. She couldn’t remember if it ever had. As long as she’d known Emerson, he’d been killing.
“You walked right into my arms, Sascha.”
She started, her stare trained on his face.
“I liked you before I knew you had a boyfriend in the military. Took me a while to find anything about him. Who knew Homeland Security had special forces units dotted all over the country? I decided to take a road trip and check it out for myself. A few days before you turned up in class, I flew to Louisiana and found a whole team of brothers.” He barked a laugh. “Fucking government sidestepped some red tape to allow brothers to join the same team. I would have taken them out just to show them how wrong they are.”
Her stomach pitched.
“You saw him. He was one that didn’t die. Bad shot. It happens.” He shrugged it off.
“Well, now that you’ve seen my film, what do you think about it, Sascha? How many stars would you rate it?”
In the rear of the small theater, a door blasted open. It hit the wall with a bang that made her curl into a ball. Emerson rocketed to his feet and whipped around to face the intruder. He fired off several shots.
She screamed behind the gag.
Boot steps created thunder in the floor beneath her as big men stormed toward them.
Then River’s cold, deadly tone. “I give it one star, because you get one shot—between your evil fucking eyes.”
Chapter Thirteen
Hepburn leaned over Sascha, watching the doctor’s every move as he examined her.
She looked so damn small and helpless in the hospital bed. To think that the day she walked back into his life, she’d leaned over his hospital bed the same way.
“Just some bruising. No cuts deep enough to stitch, only a few abrasions on her knees.”
Thinking about what that sick fucker had done to her before Hepburn blasted him off the face of the Earth made him wish he could bring him back to life just to shoot him again.
He harbored enough fury to end a war. Or fucking start one.
But for now, he needed to remain calm and focus on Sascha.
She reached out a hand to him, and he enveloped her small hand in his. When he stared at the scrapes on her knuckles and the missing fingernails she’d broken off trying to escape, his eyes blurred with emotion.
“Lots of rest. Drink plenty of water. And after your ordeal…” the doctor looked from Sascha to him, “I suggest therapy.”
Hepburn gave a solemn nod.
Guilt weighed heavy on his heart as the doctor left the room and they were alone.
He battled to meet her gaze. “Sascha…baby…this is because of me. I’m so sorry.”
“You’re the reason he can’t hurt anyone else.”
He looked up into her beautiful eyes. One was bruised at the corner. “If you were dating a plumber, nobody would have come after you, and you wouldn’t require years of therapy.”
“I doubt I’ll need years. I’m strong.”
He bowed his head and pinched the bridge of his nose hard. “Fuck.”
“River, come here.” She tugged her hand free of his hold and opened her arms to him.
No matter how much he thought he should resist, damn if he could. He sank to the bed and wrapped her tight in his arms, tucking her head beneath his chin and inhaling her personal scent that flooded him with joy, lust and love in a single sniff.
“I have something to tell you.” Her quiet statement made him draw back to search her face.
He knew the motherfucker hadn’t raped her. Thank God. Because he would have shot off each of his balls and turned his dick into a sprinkler system if he had. It was bad enough he hurt her like he had.
“What is it?” he asked.
“I’m sorry for my reaction when you said those things about my film. I—”
He brushed his lips across her forehead. “Shh. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“No, you spoke the truth, and I never want you to lie to me, River.” Her voice burned on a vehement rasp. “What you said helped me to realize you were right. I wasn’t passionate about that concept, even though I tried my best. So after you walked out, I was sitting there looking through some of th
e video of your team that I shot that night after the concert.”
Mention of the concert shot holes in another hornet’s nest inside him—the killer had been at the concert. His were probably the footsteps they heard and somehow he’d managed to take photos of them having sex without Hepburn noticing.
Never again would he let down his guard in public. Sascha came first—forever.
She went on in a soft voice, “I started making a new film. I don’t have nearly enough footage, but I hoped you and your team would let me shoot more.”
“A film of us? I’m not sure if that would be allowed by OFFAT.”
A crease appeared between her brows. “OFFAT?”
“The division of Homeland Security we operate under—Operation Freedom Flag Alaska Tundra. But…maybe if it’s anonymous. It’s not as if we wear a logo on our shirts telling the world who we are. But what’s so exciting about our team?”
“It’s not only you. I got the idea from Ethan’s video. You watched it. There was such a portrayal of the brotherhood that it brought tears to my eyes every damn time.”
He nodded, choking up suddenly. “You’re right too. You said I hide from things, stuff them down. I do. Until you said it, I had never really thought about why I never felt the weight of those issues lightening. It’s been like carrying heavy packs filled with stones all day long.”
She cupped his face in her hands. He dropped his forehead to hers and nuzzled her nose. When she kissed him with all the tenderness of a woman who loved him, his heart burst with even more love for her than he ever knew it possible to feel.
“I love you, River. So much. And I don’t regret following you to Alaska.”
He searched her face. “Not even when I put you in direct danger?”
“It wasn’t your fault, but not even then.”
He breathed out a sigh he hadn’t realized he’d been holding in all this time. Hell, maybe he’d been holding it in forever.
“Then we better figure out our relationship, baby.”
She nodded, her smile radiant. “Definitely more date nights.”