by Milly Taiden
“There were two voices. A softer voice I couldn’t quite make out, but I swear it sounded familiar. The other was just this evil laughter.”
“How did you feel when you heard it?”
“Like something terrible was about to happen.”
Oxygen fought its way into her lungs. Her heartbeat pounded loud in her ears. Fear would only keep her from getting her work done. She had to push it aside. Remember. Even if it felt like she was opening the doors to hell. She needed to know.
“What else did you see?” Tonya’s tone was soothing. She’d done this so many times. She and Tonya shared a link due to their similar gifts. They didn’t have the same dreams. But when one dreamed of the future, the other did too.
“A doll.”
“What kind of doll?”
Another shrill dose of fear wrapped around her in a chokehold. “An old-fashioned material doll. Dirty. Falling apart. Old.”
The image was significant. She bit her lip. Something about the doll stood out. She couldn’t figure out what. It had a regular little dress. Nothing special. She could tell the raggedy toy had been through some serious use. One button eye was ready to fall off. Hair made of string had been bound into pig tails by two old ribbons.
“Can you see anything else?”
Her mind fought to stay with the thin thread of images. Shadows crowded the edges of her brain. Panic started to take hold. Remember.
“A hand. I think I saw a hand. It was really fast.”
“Describe it for me.”
She groaned, frustrated. “I can’t. It’s too dark. There’s not enough that I can make out anything useful.”
“Relax your mind, Cyn.”
Multiple breaths didn’t help. She lost the few memories. Only darkness remained. Darkness that haunted her dreams. That hunted her.
“Goddammit!”
“You need to calm down. Anger won’t help you release your memories from wherever you’re storing them.”
She sighed. That dream was not coming to her tonight.
“Thanks for calling.”
“I’m here for you.”
She clung to the peace listening to Tonya’s voice brought to her. She wanted to hug her friend. A shiver racked her. “I know.”
The next morning, Cynthia opened her front door to find Brock leaning on the hood of her car. His broad, muscular frame was covered in head to toe black. Not that the color did anything to hide his abundant hotness. He met her gaze, pinning him with a profound stare.
“I knew you wouldn’t call for me to say when we’d leave, so I decided to show up.”
“Nice,” she grumbled.
He studied her outfit as she came closer. Great. How could she handle being in a car with him for hours when all her mind kept sharing was every sexual escapade they’d ever had, which had been way too many in the years they’d dated.
“You look nice.”
Her heart flipped. No getting excited over him liking what she’d worn. It wasn’t anything special to throw on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, though he made it sound like she’d dressed to the nines. She squeezed the travel mug in her hand. “Thanks. My car or yours?”
“Mine. You can relax while I drive.”
As if she could. She cleared her throat of the words trying to push out. No way in hell could she relax. Too much was on her mind.
“So when was the last time you visited Holy Oaks?” Brock asked.
“I haven’t actually been back to Holy Oaks much,” she said softly.
They’d been driving for almost two hours. Most of which had been a tense silence which started to get on her last nerve. She couldn’t take it anymore. Since he’d picked her up, she’d been fighting the memories of their old life together. What she should be focusing on is the dream and trying to figure out what it meant for the future. If she couldn’t figure it out it could be bad news for someone.
“Stop it.” Brock’s rumble glided over her in a smooth caress. His voice flicked the switch to memory lane. Great. She couldn’t remember what she needed to, but her mind sure knew what door to open for X-rated Brock and Cyn movies to play on loop in her head.
“Stop what?”
“Thinking so hard.”
The numerous trees outside her window were no longer holding her attention. Shifting in her seat, she glanced at him.
His brows dipped in a frown and his eyes turned bright with concern.
“I’m not thinking hard,” she said.
“If you say so. Now tell me why you stayed away from Holy Oaks,” he inquired.
She shrugged. “I just haven’t gone to visit. It’s not like I really remember the place.”
“Why not?” He glanced at her, curious. “How long did you live there?”
Her mind whirled back in time, to the memories she did have of the place. “I lived there until I was three and then grandmom took me to live with her in a new home she’d bought up at Crawford.”
“That’s where we went to college.”
She nodded. “We lived there ever since and never returned. Even though my aunt Clara and her daughter, Roxy, were still living at Holy Oaks.”
“That’s normal? For your grandmother to just up and leave her daughter and never visit again?”
She rubbed the header on the dashboard, flitting through her memories. “Grandmom Marcia spoke to Clara almost daily. She never shared the conversations with me other than to say Clara was very eccentric.”
Brock’s brows rose. “What do you mean very eccentric?”
She shifted in her seat to better stare at his face. What was the point of lying to herself about her feelings for him?
“What about your mom? I remember you always talking of your grandmother but never your mom.” Brock asked again as soon as the quiet lasted more than a moment.
She drove restless fingers into her hair, sliding them down the long strands. “I’m sure I told you I grew up with Marcia.”
“That part, yes. What you never told me was why.”
Oh. Yeah. That wasn’t something she’d liked talking about. “I told you about Iliana.”
“You told me you never lived with her. And that you didn’t really like talking about her because it was uncomfortable for you,” he said, reminding her of every word she’d said every time he tried to have a conversation with her regarding her family. “I didn’t mind waiting until you were ready to talk, but I never actually forgot that a lot was left unsaid between us. All of it from your side.”
“I’m not really sure I want to talk about this.”
“I do,” he replied. He frowned and met her gaze. “I want to know if you going to visit your grandmother before she died had anything to do with you leaving me.”
Shit. If she wasn’t careful, he’d figure out all the reasons she’d walked away. “You’re crazy. Marcia loved you.” It was what she’d been told at Marcia’s deathbed that had made Cyn leave. She had to give him something before he stayed on in that mindset. “You want to know about my mother? Fine. Iliana took off when I was small, which I don’t like telling people. I didn’t really find out much about her, Marcia didn’t like to speak of her, until I was in college. Iliana was a sick woman. Very sick.”
Her chest tightened as pain clawed at her. Memories of finding out about her mother’s illness made her gut clench. Intense throbbing for the woman she’d never gotten to see until she’d already died spread like wildfire in her heart.
Brock’s hands tightened on the wheel. His jaw clenched, and she realized he could probably scent her pain.
“Enough about me. I see you finished college and went to the academy like you’d always wanted.”
He glanced at her. Those ever-changing eyes darkened. “You did too.”
True. “Yeah, but it ended up being something I hadn’t expected for me.”
“Why?”
How did they end up on her again? She couldn’t tell him that her need to be near him had somehow fed her decision to join the academy. She’d wanted to kno
w what he was up to. Reality was, she’d never stopped loving him. Ever. But life was harsh. The things she’d learned about her family had stopped all thoughts of marriage and kids. Brock deserved better.
She cleared her throat. “I wanted to help people. That was all.” Not even close to all, but she’d leave it at that.
The sign welcoming them to Holy Oaks neared. Navy blue with a waterfall the locals considered their natural wonder. The sign had rust spread all over and graffiti over the word Holy to say Hell instead.
“We’re here.” Now to find her cousin and leave before her feelings for Brock pushed her into admitting too much about the past or even worse, doing things she’d later regret.
Brock drove down the main street, through the small residential streets and down a dirt road.
“I’m sorry about Galvez and the Kyler Jones’ case.” Cynthia cleared her throat. “I knew you’d found the child, but I didn’t realize he hadn’t told you we’d go in to retrieve her.”
“It took longer because Erica is on her honeymoon, and we didn’t get a chance to meet most of the family for a few days.”
She leaned on the head rest. “That was a very difficult case. I don’t think anyone expected for the uncle to be the one who had abducted the little girl.”
Brock remembered the moment Jane had done a medical background check on the entire family. Her thoughts on the uncle were what drove Brock to call Galvez and the local PD on the case.
“Why were you surprised?”
“I was shocked that the man had taken the little girl hostage.” She pinned him with her gaze. “He was going to kill her.”
“He had a history of mental illness.”
“That nobody bothered to tell us about.” Cyn ran her hands through her hair. “Until Jane looked up everyone’s medical history. What made you decide it was him?”
The road narrowed, until they were caged in between two rows of trees.
“There are people who know they’re practicing evil things and don’t care. But then there’re those who practice evil and truly believe they’re doing good. Those people are the most dangerous people you can meet. That man was mentally ill. He believed in the hallucinations he had that told him to kill the child to save her soul.”
She swallowed hard. “It’s your quick thinking that saved Kyler. When I entered the house, the man’s eyes…they were empty.” Sadness drifted from her side of the vehicle. “He walked into the flames, all the while telling me he’d return to save her.”
“You saved her. You took her out of harm’s way.” He grabbed her hand, lifted it to his mouth and brushed his lips over her palm. “Some evils can be destroyed. Some hide so deep, so well, it takes something big for it to come out.”
She blinked. He heard her heartbeat increase in gallops. She inhaled sharply and glanced away from him to the road. The further they went, the more she gave him directions, until they reached a secluded house. Paint peeled on the outside of the house. A bright red convertible sat on the paved driveway.
He slowly pulled up next to the sports car and turned to Cyn. His chest tightened. He hated that sadness on her face. Her head was cocked to the side as she took in the house. He wondered what she thought at that moment. Not that he couldn’t peek into her mind, he could. He’d never done that to her. Her thoughts and memories were private. If and when she chose to share them with him…then he’d hear them.
She glanced at the house in concentration. “I don’t remember this house too well. But whenever I think of it, a sick sensation grows in the pit of my stomach.”
Her words were low, as if she’d been speaking to herself, but he’d been able to hear. He did have the hearing that allowed him to hear much more than just talking in the area.
“And whose house is this?”
She jerked her face toward him. A forlorn smile spread over her lips. “It was Marcia’s. I was told we’d lived here when I was small, but the only time I remember this house clearly was ten years ago when I came for my mother’s funeral.”
The house was very old. With a Victorian construction, but a paint job from hell. Dark-gray shutters covered the windows. What was supposed to be an inviting porch appeared to be rotted wood. There was no way that was stable.
“It’s not as bad as it seems.” Cyn patted his leg.
He grabbed her wrist so fast her pulse tripped under his fingers. She met his gaze. Her eyes widened. There it was. The widening of her pupils. The scent of her arousal filled the car. No matter what happened in the past, no matter what came out of her gorgeous full lips, one thing was clear: she was still his. And he planned on taking his mate back.
The animal inside growled. He couldn’t take her yet. The last time they’d been together, he’d been worried about being too rough with her, too much for her. Not anymore. She was his.
“James, let me go.”
Never. He’d never let her get away again. He had to find out what drove her from him in the first place to ensure it wouldn’t happen again. Cyn was the only woman he’d wanted for over a decade. Now that she was in his life, there was no need to fill every second with a case in order to stop thinking about her.
“You’re mine.”
She licked her lips and glanced down at his mouth. Heat crowded her golden skin, creating blotches of pink on her cheeks.
“James…”
He rubbed his thumb back and forth over her tripping pulse. “I can wait. I’ve waited this long. But make no mistake, this time, I’m not letting you go.”
She gasped, tugging her wrist free. Fire flashed in her eyes. “You can help me figure out where my cousin is, or you can go. What we had is in the past. We have a job to do.”
He’d let her believe that, for now. In time, she’d come to realize that he was a different man. Movement diverted his attention. A blonde woman slid out of the sports car.
“That’s the realtor I hired. She’s the sheriff’s wife. She’s been overseeing things for me.”
“What things?” He frowned, watching the blonde wobble on her heels.
She made a face filled with distaste while staring at the rundown house. “I’m trying to sell it.”
“How long have you been trying to sell?”
“About a year.” She sighed. “Now I see why it hasn’t sold. I didn’t even know I owned this place until she contacted me.”
That didn’t sound right. “Didn’t your aunt know?”
Cyn turned troubled eyes his way. “Clara…has a lot of things going on in her mind. Grandmom said I shouldn’t ever bother her.”
Surprise filled him. This was her family. Cynthia had always been close to her grandmother. For her to be told not to interact with a relative sounded strange even to him.
“She’s your aunt.”
She shrugged. “She’s a little strange. The last time I saw her was for grandmother’s funeral in our old house. She showed up, dropped some flowers on the casket, and left. Didn’t say a word the few minutes she was there.”
“Hi! Cynthia?” The blonde knocked on Cyn’s window.
Brock jumped out of the SUV, rushing to the other side to open her door.
Cyn’s brows dipped low. She took his offered hand and used it to get out of the SUV.
“Yes, I’m Cynthia.”
“I am so happy to finally meet you.” The blonde gushed, shaking Cyn’s hand excitedly. “I’m Amy Kemp, the realtor you’ve been talking to about the house. Thank goodness I get to put a face to the name, finally. Conference calls don’t really do much for getting to know a person.”
Cyn scrunched her nose. “No. Conference calls are really impersonal.”
Amy turned to Brock. Curiosity lit in her gaze. “Is this your boyfriend?”
Subtlety was clearly not something she knew.
“Co-worker,” he replied, unwilling to give the nosy woman information.
“James Brock. Amy Kemp.” She introduced him to the blonde. “Brock, Amy is the realtor I told you about.”
Cyn squeezed between them, marching to the front entrance of the house. She stopped a few feet from the broken-down steps leading to the door.
“I see you haven’t gotten a chance to fix the outside.”
Amy rushed up to Cyn’s side, attempting not to trip over the small rocks in her sky-high spiked red heels. Brock shook his head. He didn’t understand why women tried to walk in what looked like torture devices. That had been one thing he’d liked about Cyn, she’d worn heels, and after a while she’d walk around barefoot claiming she couldn’t stand them.
“I know it looks bad,” Amy bit her lip, frowning at the peeling yellow paint on the house’s exterior.
Bad? The place was a hazard. He couldn’t sense anything from the house. It was as though it’d been alone for so long that all signs of life were gone. He couldn’t let her go inside without checking it out first.
“What have you gotten a chance to do?” Cyn clenched her jaw. Her fingers curled into her palms in a display of aggravation.
“Oh, the inside is lovely. We cleared out all the old furniture and made repairs. We even put in a hot tub in the master bedroom. I know I didn’t get a chance to do the outside yet, but you’ll see that this is not as bad as you think.”
He doubted it. The whole damn place appeared to be falling apart. “Do you have keys?”
Amy flushed. With a shaky hand, she dug the keys out of her red bag, red tipped nails curled around the plastic key ring. “Here you are, but we can all go in together.”
“No.”
Amy jumped at his growled response, her eyes wide with shock. “O-okay.”
“Brock needs to check things out first,” Cyn replied, frowning at him at the same time she tried to soothe the other woman’s nervous stuttering.
Beads of sweat trickled down his spine with each step he took away from Cyn. Logic dictated he ensure the place was safe for her to enter, but the animal inside didn’t want to go far. Thick energy pulsed in his palms, reminding him that he was stronger than anything in the vicinity.
Rounding a corner, he went past the dried rose bushes, toward the backside of the house. A ladder lay on its side, splattered with white paint. Further down the path, he could see the windows had been replaced. Around the south side of the house, he encountered the rear porch. Two raggedy old rocking chairs sat facing the yard. Still, he didn’t get a single negative sensation.