Tenderly slipping an errant strand of hair behind my ear, he said, “You don’t have to worry about that, Maggie, not with me.”
“We’ll see.” I took a deep breath and began the walk down nightmare lane. “When I was seven, my parents were brutally murdered, right before me eyes. It was fairly early in the evening, maybe around six or seven. I had wandered into the kitchen where my parents were having yet another explosive fight.”
As I spoke, my mind, heart, and soul traveled back to that summer night, seventeen years ago…
“You promised to give me one night to myself. One night, Fredrick. That’s all I asked of you,” my mother said, her hands in fists by her sides. Even angry, she was the epitome of elegance, her shoulder-length dark blond hair expertly coiffed.
Though a bit older, his hairline receding, my dad was handsome in an old-fashioned way.
“All you ask?” said my dad, exasperated. “All you ask. Tell me this is a joke, Kate. Do you really think I’m that stupid? That blind?” His expression had been one of disbelief mixed with disgust.
Mom had spotted me lurking just inside the entrance to the kitchen. “Margaret, what did I tell you? Now, go back to the living room and wait there like Mommy’s good girl, okay?”
“But Daddy promised to dish ice cream and show me his new art books,” said my seven-year-old self meekly.
“And we will do just that, Maggie, I promise.” Dad turned back to my mother. “We can continue this later, Kate. I’m not leaving, and I think you know why.”
At that moment, the doorbell rang. Huffing, Mom said, “I’ll get it.”
While Mom went to answer the front door, I looked up at my dad. “Why is mommy upset?”
Before my dad could say a word, a bloodcurdling scream pierced our ears. “NO! NO! HELP ME! MARGARET! MARGARET!” Mom cried before her pleas were muffled, replaced by the horrific sounds of her heels dragging across the doorway and the thuds and thumps of her body slamming against the floor or doorframe.
“MOMMY!” I screamed.
“KATE!” Dad’s voice cracked.
Dad moved to chase after my mother, but I panicked, wrapping my arms around his legs, terrified to be alone. “Don’t leave me! Don’t leave me! Don’t leave me!”
Dad knelt down beside me and urgently said, “Maggie, I have to help your mom. Wait right here and don’t mov—”
A loud crash and thud echoed from the back of the house.
Dad closed his eyes, swallowed hard, and handed me a snowflake pendant. Pressing it in my hand, he whispered, “Remember, all snowflakes are magical. I love you, my little Maggie.” He hugged me tightly, his heart beating dangerously fast, before shoving me into the pantry and quickly closing the door. Through the slats, he said, “No matter what happens, do not make a sound and do not leave here.”
Lunging for the block of knives, a gunshot rang out; Dad fell to the floor right in front of the pantry door, his leg bleeding. Not two moments later, a man stormed into the kitchen, hovered over my father, and began repeatedly stabbing him in the chest, arms, and neck. I could hear his flesh rip with each stab of the knife. The maniacal laughter of my father’s sadistic murderer drew my eyes to him, and on his neck was a frightening talon tattoo; the image gnawed at my brain like maggots to a dead animal.
Soon, another man’s voice called into the kitchen, halting my father’s killer from stabbing his lifeless body yet again. “We have a problem.” The voice was high-pitched, almost squeaky.
“What?” growled my father’s murderer, his voice as menacing as his tattoo.
“She isn’t here,” said the other man.
“The kid?” asked the murderer.
“Yeah, not here.”
I wouldn’t know if more words were exchanged between them, for the blood from my dad’s motionless, butchered body froze every part of me as it started to seep beneath the pantry door, inching towards me like a deadly poison.
Blake took one of my hands in his, shaking me from the past, bringing me back to the present…back to him.
“Maggie,” he breathed.
“By the time police responded to the neighbor’s calls, Mom was missing, Dad was dead, and my life had changed forever,” I carried on solemnly. “Police eventually found my mom’s body in a ravine. The van some neighbors reporting seeing her forced into was abandoned on a country road. Mom’s blood was found inside.
“Because they were concerned the killers might come after me, police changed my name to Lucy Brock and placed me in the witness protection program. It was an easy transition, since I had no family—no cousins, aunts, uncles, grandparents. So, I was shuffled from foster home to foster home.” Running a hand through my hair, shaking my head, I said, “Boy, did I make their lives a living hell. The first few foster homes weren’t bad, but I took great pleasure in making them far worse than they had to be. I mean, I could’ve made them work, you know? The next ones were, quite honestly, wonderful—good, honest people who took a chance on a kid who had garnered quite an unfavorable reputation. I made it impossible for them to ever love me. And they tried, Blake, they really, really tried to love me. Did I let them? No, of course not. Besides a rotten attitude, I had a nasty habit of running away, breaking things, and anything else that would force them to give up on me. I didn’t want to get attached to anyone again, you know? Where I could have survived in the earlier foster homes, I could have enjoyed the latter homes, maybe even been happy. Instead, I just screwed everything up, but, oh, did I get paid back for it. My last foster home featured an especially cruel couple who just happened to come with an extra-friendly uncle with an affinity for hitting.”
“You were—” said Blake, the desire to avenge me palpable in his delivery.
I held up a hand and nodded, preventing him from completing his realization. “I was ten. It could’ve been worse. I was lucky he never got the chance to do what he was gearing up for.”
“When it comes to abuse, there are no varying degrees in my book. Every act deserves an afterlife in the most horrifying corners of hell.” Blake’s phone started buzzing, but he ignored it. “Did you ever tell—”
“His relatives?” I supplied sarcastically. “Oh, yeah, but they refused to believe me. In their eyes, I was a liar. They oftentimes sent me to bed without food as punishment for having violent thoughts. Well, that and the fact that I ran away…a lot. There was one blessing living with them.”
“Yeah? Astonish me.”
“Every Saturday and Wednesday, they’d take me into this quaint, happy little town. I loved it there. It was the one place I actually felt hopeful. It was easier for them if I didn’t tag along, so they let me hang out at the Tick-tock Pie Shop. It was there I met Grady Harred.”
“Harred,” Blake repeated. “He’s the man you told me about, the one who took you in.”
I smiled. “He grew to be like the grandfather I never had. I hinted to what was going on with my foster family, and I’ll never forget his reaction. He leaned forward over a piece of chocolate peanut butter pie, and said, ‘I’m here every single day at four o’clock. And you know that fancy old yellow car out back? Well, that’s mine and it always stays unlocked.’”
“And you weren’t worried about this guy being some sick bastard?” Once again, Blake’s phone started buzzing. This time, he checked the name. “Greg. He can wait. Go on.”
“I can’t explain it, but I somehow felt like he was sent to me by my father. I had to trust that instinct. So, after school the next day, I hauled butt to the small town instead of going home. It was just after four, and, sure enough, I found Grady’s car in the parking lot. I climbed in the back and waited for him to come out of the pie shop. Grady didn’t hesitate when he saw me crouched down in the backseat. Brought me home with him right then and there.
“Grady’s whole family—daughter, son-in-law, and granddaughter—were killed by a drunk driver two years earlier. At that moment, Lucy Brock disappeared and Maggie Harred was born.”
“And no
body questioned him suddenly having another granddaughter?”
Smiling slyly, I said, “As loving and kind as he was, Grady had many mysterious layers, kind of like you.” Blake grinned appreciatively. “He wasn’t shy about telling me he had connections, but that’s as much as he revealed. I often wondered if ‘Grady Harred’ was even his real name, not that I really cared. I always figured he was retired CIA or FBI. As soon as he learned of my affinity for arts and antiques, he took great lengths to nurture and grow that gift, making sure I evolved and pursued a future in this world…your world.”
Blake narrowed his eyes. “But that’s not the only reason he pointed you in my direction, is it?”
“No,” I said, feeling my chest tighten. “He knew about my parents. Frankly, I believe he had more knowledge about the case than he ever let on.”
“Further fueling your belief that he was CIA or FBI.”
“Oh yeah. He knew my need to hunt down the monster that killed my folks was indestructible, and he knew there was only one person who could possibly make that happen.”
“I still don’t see how he would know to send you to the Manx.”
“Grady had a vague recollection of the talon tattoo. He said it was a mark of loyalty to someone in the art world, someone from your circles. From that moment on, you were my only hope.”
“There’s something you’re not telling.”
My stomach churned violently, and I half-wondered if vomit would accompany my next set of words. “God, how do I say this? Blake, my parents’ murders came to be known as…the McKennla Massacres.”
“Yeah, yeah, I remember the case. Police suspect someone took a hit out on the entire family, though no one could come up with a reason why. It remains a cold case to this day…” It didn’t take long for the dreaded look of recognition to register on his beautiful face. “McKennla…Margaret McKennla…the missing daughter of Fredrick McKennla…an agent we have in the—” I could tell by his eyes he already knew I was fully aware of the Shade file.
“Shade file,” I supplied.
“I’m going to need you to explain how you know your father’s in that file,” he said tersely.
“One day, I spotted the file on Greg’s computer. I probed him about it a bit, and right then, something in my gut told me I’d find answers in there, only I never expected to find my father. I was looking for his killer—the man with the talon tattoo. So, I got Greg drunk, spiked his drink with half of a sleeping pill, managed to get him to sign into the Shade file, and waited for him to pass out. I had bailed on giving him the spiked drink when he grabbed it from me and started downing it. After that, I decided it’d be foolish not to carry on with the plan.”
“Where you then searched the file with nothing to go on but a tattoo,” said Blake. I couldn’t tell if he was angry, annoyed, or something in between.
“Blake, I really did believe my father was an accountant. It was only when I saw his picture in the Shade file that I realized…”
Leaning forward, staring into my eyes, Blake said, “So coming to work for me was nothing more than a means to an ends for you.”
“You make it sound so cold,” I said, my voice cracking. “But, essentially, yes, that’s an accurate statement.” Blake dropped his head and stared at the floor. “Everything I did was for my parents. The sadistic bastard who killed them ruined my life! Every minute of every day I’ve had to fight reliving that night, while constantly looking over my shoulder, wondering whether or not he’s still trying to find me, knowing my only choice was to find him first. I’ve had to work every single damn day just to try and piece together some semblance of normality. It wasn’t until I got this job with you that I finally felt like I belonged. Yes, I came into this with the sole intent to find the beast, but something…happened.”
“What? What happened, Maggie?”
Swallowing hard, I whispered, “You…you happened. You became more than a means to an ends, more than a boss…you became my friend, my lover…you are happiness to me.”
Blake stood up and started pacing back and forth in front of the fireplace. “You could’ve told me.”
“If I had told you, what would you have done? You didn’t even know me. I was just some girl who had a good brain for your team.”
“You were never just some girl. Not to me. I told you I didn’t care about your past as long as it didn’t jeopardize our operation. Now, I learn there could be a killer still searching for you. And where there’s a hit man, there’s someone hiring.”
“And I want to find every last one of them, not just the hand that committed the acts, but the money behind the hand.”
“Let’s say you discovered the killer’s identity. What would you have done?” He stopped, facing the fire, his back turned to me.
“I guess there are two options…turn him over to the police or kill him. And I honestly can’t say which I’d choose.”
“There is another option,” he said darkly, still facing the fire. “Capture and torture him until he reveals the name of his employer, then possibly use him as collateral, among other things.”
I stared at his broad back, the fire creating a glow around his intimidating form. “What are you saying?”
“I have one simple request of you,” he said, slowly turning around.
“Anything.”
He walked over to me and knelt down beside me. “Let me be the means, not to your ends, but to your beginning.”
Daring to smile as hope bubbled within, I said, “You mean you want to help me?”
With a dark intensity I’d only caught small glimpses of before, Blake growled, “I’m going to find this son-of-a-bitch and his employer and make them pay in ways not even their worst nightmares could prepare them for.”
I lunged forward, pressing my lips to his, for I couldn’t help myself, and, man, did he respond. Our kisses may range from sweet to supremely passionate, but this one had something more, a force rooted in the fragility of life, my life; I felt his fear of losing me in this kiss as well as his gritty determination to protect me and right the wrongs done to my family.
I smiled, but instantly felt my face twist into an unsure expression. “What’s just crossed your mind?” he asked.
“Well…I wanted to say ‘thank you’, but then I realized that ‘Thank you’ included the possibility of torturing—”
“A known murderer,” he said sternly.
“Yeah, I know, but…ugh,” I said, flailing my hands. “I have all of these moral dilemmas, ‘What would the J-man do’ kind of stuff.”
“With everything you’ve been through, the mere fact that you still feel morally burdened at all is a testament to your character. Let me take that burden from you—I don’t have that same character,” he said with a sexy, reassuring wink.
“I’ll try.” I kissed him again. “Blake, can I ask you a question?”
“Of course,” he said, running his hand through my hair.
“Do you know anything more about my dad? Maybe something that isn’t in the Shade file? Like, who he was buying for?”
Blake’s face fell. “No. I wish I did. And I know nothing about this talon tattooed man. Grady said he was connected to the art world, yet I’ve never even heard of such a mark existing in this world, much less spotted anyone with it at any of the usual galas, auctions, or openings.”
“I have…tonight. Blake, I saw the tattoo…it was the man who killed my dad.”
Blake’s eyes blazed with fury. “He was there.”
“Yes.”
“Did he see you?”
I nodded. “I don’t think he could’ve recognized me, but…when the lights went out, and Blair’s fake storm kicked into high gear, someone—a man—slammed me against a pillar. He pressed his body against mine. I could feel his breath on my neck. It chilled me to the bone. In a scary voice, he said, ‘Tick-tock, real soon.’”
“Was it him, your dad’s killer?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t see who it was,” I s
aid honestly. “It could have been, I guess. I just don’t know. I mean, he couldn’t have recognized me, not after all these years.” I paused a moment. “Blake…what if it was him?”
In an instant, Blake pulled out his phone, only to have it buzz yet again. “Yeah, Greg, good timing. I need you to pull up footage—yeah, I know you’ve been trying to reach me, but I’m in the middle of—what? When? On our way.”
“What is it? What’s wrong?” I asked, alarmed.
“Ivy’s been attacked. She’s in the hospital.”
Chapter Fifteen
Hospital. As we neared Ivy’s room, we heard her unmistakable brand of utter piss-off coming in the form of a threat to some poor soul assigned to tend to her injuries.
“Stick that in my mouth one more time and I’ll shove it so far up your ass, you won’t be able to sit for a week. You get me?”
Soon after that little snarl, a nurse rushed out of the room, her face pale.
“At least the attack didn’t damage her spirit,” said Blake.
CRASH! SMASH!
I smiled weakly, resolving to achieve her level of potency one day soon. “Yeah, I think it’s a safe bet nothing could damage Ivy’s spirit.”
“Bring me one of those again, and I’ll break it over your head,” growled Ivy.
“You asked for one, Miss Raynott. I was simply fulfilling your request,” said a man’s voice.
“Being that you’re a professional, I would think you’d know when a patient’s request shouldn’t be granted,” said Ivy, seething.
“Well, if you recall, Miss Raynott, I did caution you that it wasn’t the best idea to—”
“Cautioning isn’t stopping, now is it, doctor? Get out. My one good eye is tired of looking at you.”
Moments later, a rather handsome doctor with dark hair and eyes exited Ivy’s room, the hint of a smile on his face as he brought some papers to a nearby nurses’ station.
“That woman is horrible,” cried the nurse we saw scurrying from Ivy’s room earlier.
The doctor chuckled. “She’s certainly a handful.”
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